


Destiny

by TulipGirl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Time Travel, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 35,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28501647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TulipGirl/pseuds/TulipGirl
Summary: This story is set at the end of Season 5. When Buffy defeats Glory and sacrifices herself. However, in this story, she doesn't die. Rather she goes on an interesting journey to meet someone long since forgotten.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	1. Prologue

Buffy found herself sitting beside a campfire surrounded by a desert. Across the flames, crouched down low, was a woman who appeared almost pre-historic. Without realising how she knew, Buffy somehow understood that this was the first Slayer, Sineya.

“Destiny awaits you,” the first Slayer said in a telepathic manner.  
“Destiny? What does that mean? My destiny?” Buffy asked, but received no immediate reply. Rather the first Slayer began to dance slowly in time with the flames.

Finally, another cryptic message was communicated.

“Go back to find your destiny.”

The fire flared up suddenly and the first Slayer was no longer there. Buffy slowly walked away and eventually found Giles where he’d left her earlier.

“Well?” Giles asked hopefully.  
“Something about how I need to find my destiny,” Buffy said shaking her head.  
___

“Ooh … ooh … I think I may have something,” Willow exclaimed excitedly.

Buffy, Giles, and Willow had been pouring over texts in the Magic Box for hours trying to find reference to a Slayer’s destiny. So far they hadn’t had much luck. Spike was also there. Although he wasn’t being particularly helpful, just drinking whisky from his hip flask and observing.

“It says here that a Slayer can exact great power by sacrificing herself to her own destiny,” Willow read from the book.  
“I really don’t like the idea of sacrificing myself, wouldn’t that mean I have to die … again?” Buffy asked.  
“Well, yes sacrifice usually means death of some sort, but I don’t think this particular sacrifice would be your actual physical death. The text seems to be referring to the sacrifice of your current way of life or direction of life as opposed to life itself.” Willow explained pointing to the exact passage.  
“Great, so I just have to change the way I live my life … no biggie,” Buffy retorted.

Just once why couldn’t the world be saved without her having to undergo some sort of major ordeal?

  
“So how does this sacrifice ritual get enacted?” Buffy asked.  
“It seems that the sacrifice can be utilised in trade for one favour, in theory, you could potentially close the portal that Glory intends to open using the key,” Willow said hopefully.  
“How?” Buffy asked.  
“With your body,” Giles replied solemnly. He was leaning over Willow’s shoulder and intently reading the passages in the book.  
“I have to jump into the portal and face by destiny … whatever that may be?” Buffy summarised.  
“Yes, it seems that way,” Giles responded, quietly.

He’d taken off his glasses and was polishing them furiously. Buffy gulped. Giles only did that when he was stressed or when he didn’t know an answer.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Spike said suddenly and all three of them looked over at him.  
“Spike, you can’t possibly know that,” Giles retorted dismissively, returning his concentration to the book.

He didn’t notice the vampire roll his eyes and flip the older man the bird.

“And we have no way of knowing what my destiny will be?” Buffy asked ignoring the little spat between her Watcher and Spike.

Buffy looked from Giles to Willow and back to Giles again. They could barely meet her eyes. Finally, Giles responded …

“Unfortunately not, but we will do our very best to track you and bring you back as soon as we can.”  
“That fills me with huge amounts of confidence. You know this Slayer gig sucks sometimes, I wish I could just take a break.”  
____

A few weeks later the final showdown with Glory occurred. Dawn had been captured and placed into position on the tower platform. Glory and Buffy had undergone a massive battle and it seemed that Glory / Ben had been beaten, however, that weird warlock dude had managed to use Dawn’s blood to open the portal and now Buffy faced the destiny challenge.

Giving Dawn a final hug she turned and sprinted down the platform, swan diving into the air she flew straight into the swirling lights of the portal. Within an instant, she was no longer there, and the portal immediately closed capturing all the demons that had threatened to immerge from it.


	2. Chapter 2

A burst of light temporarily flashed around the immediate area. It would have blinded anyone if they had been looking directly at it, but luckily there was no one around. Buffy fell with a sharp thud onto the ground. It was a fall that would have caused significant injury to a normal human, but with her Slayer strength she was able to withstand the trauma, although it did hurt … a lot.

She slowly raised herself into a sitting position. Her head was throbbing with possibly the worst headache she had ever experienced, her vision was slightly blurred, and her hands were trembling. Who would have thought that facing one’s destiny would be so painful?

Buffy glanced around at her surroundings. She appeared to be sitting in the middle of a road which was running through what resembled farmland of some kind. Low walls constructed of stone ran alongside the road on each side and beyond them were some open fields and some sort of crops. The different fields were divided by either dark green hedges or stone walls. It didn’t seem to look like any farmland that Buffy had ever seen before, rather, it looked a lot like the landscape from the television series Pride and Prejudice which she had seen in high school. But that was impossible, that show was set in England. Surely she wasn’t in England. Was she? How on Earth? Why? Was her destiny somehow linked to England? Maybe it had something to do with Giles … he’s English after all. Maybe she could contact him and he could fly over and get her.

A sudden noise to her left snapped Buffy out of her thoughts and she turned her head to see two horses approaching her … fast.

“AAAGH!” she screamed and quickly scrambled out of their path.

The horses passed by without striking her. They were pulling a carriage and as it travelled by her the driver looked down at her and shouted something to the horses whilst pulling back on the reins. The horses slowed to a stop a few yards away from where Buffy now sat on the side of the road. Buffy just stared.

The carriage was one of those old fashioned ones, like from a museum or in a movie. As it slowed down a curtain shifted in the window and she saw a face look out towards her. The driver appeared to be climbing down. Buffy tried to stand up, but as she did her head started throbbing again and she felt woozy. Oh God, she was going to faint. Her eyes drooped shut as everything went black.  
__________

It was dark when she woke and it took a moment for her to focus. Her powers allowed her to see in the dark much better than a normal person so it didn’t take too long to determine her surroundings. She was no longer outside, rather, she was in a bed. The room was quite large and the bed was very grand. It had four posts and a lovely canopy of draping fabric. There were two windows framed with heavy curtains and soft moonlight filtered through the gaps in the drapes. On the wall, in between the two windows, was a large painting, ornately framed, depicting a large house in the countryside. Buffy glanced to her side and saw that there was a single lit candle on the bedside table, supported in a silver candlestick holder. The soft light was casting shadows on the ceiling and walls.

Where on Earth was she now? Someone’s house? The last thing she remembered was fainting just after seeing the horse and carriage. Had they rescued her? It would seem so. Buffy continued to survey the room. Everything about it looked old fashioned. There was an ornate dressing table and mirror positioned against one wall and an elaborate light fitting hanging from the ceiling which seemed to be some sort of lamp. Directly in front of the bed was a fireplace which had been lit at some stage during the night, but was now reduced to hot glowing coals.

“I have a feeling I’m not in Kansas anymore,” Buffy muttered to herself.

There was a soft creaking sound and Buffy saw that the door to the bedroom was opening slowly. A young girl entered the room and approached the bed. She was wearing what appeared to be a maid’s outfit, a black dress, white apron and a white bonnet. When she saw that Buffy was awake she turned and quickly retreated from the room. A minute or two later the door opened wider and another woman entered. This lady wasn’t wearing a maid’s outfit, rather, she had on a lovely dark blue velvet dress. Her silver-blonde hair was piled up on her head in an elaborate upstyle and she walked with a wooden cane. The older lady approached the bed and looked down at Buffy who still had not moved.

“My name is Mrs. Alexander Pratt. You have been brought to our home to recuperate after your misadventure. May I enquire as to your identity?” she said in a very prim and proper tone.

Buffy gulped in apprehension. She had to answer. But she couldn’t exactly tell this woman her real name. She was pretty sure she was no longer in the 21st century and she was also pretty sure that a name like Buffy wasn’t going to be very commonplace here.

“Anne, my name is Anne,” Buffy lied, substituting her middle name as an alias. The woman’s expression momentarily showed surprise before she regained her composure.  
“And what of your family name … Anne?” she inquired.  
“Summers,” Buffy replied, seeing no reason not to use her real surname.  
“We will send for your family, where do they reside?” The woman asked her.  
“Ah … I am not from these parts. I was travelling when I fell from my … horse … and hit my head,” Buffy said hoping that it was a good enough explanation to satisfy the woman’s curiosity.  
“Travelling? Alone? How peculiar. Although that may explain why you were dressed the way you were. Our driver initially thought you to be a young lad.”

Buffy thought back to what she had been wearing when she entered the portal. A pair of grey slacks, a white cashmere sweater, and black boots. Not exactly appropriate feminine attire in these times. Which was maybe the late 1800’s? Buffy really had no idea. She would have to find out somehow.

“I am from America … California,” Buffy explained hoping that piece of information would help explain some of the peculiarities surrounding her behaviour and appearance.

The older woman seemed taken aback by this at first, before appearing to contemplate the information and then simply nodded.

“Well, you have experienced quite a misadventure and must rest. We will speak again in the morning,” she said and with that, she turned and retreated from the room.

Oh boy. This was surreal. Why on Earth was she in olden times England? How was this her destiny? And how on Earth was she supposed to get home? Could Giles and Willow even track her here? Did they even exist at the moment? Surely they were in the future and haven’t even been born yet.

Buffy continued to worry about her predicament late into the night, finally falling asleep out of pure exhaustion.


	3. Chapter 3

When she awoke it was morning. Sunlight was streaming in through the gaps in the curtains. Buffy looked around the room in dismay. Everything was the same, it seemed as though her situation was still as dire as it had been yesterday … she had hoped that it had all been a dream.

She gingerly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her bladder was fit to burst and she simply had to find a way to relieve herself. Although she wasn’t particularly hopeful about the options. She had a horrible suspicion that she was going to have to use a chamber pot. Standing beside the bed Buffy realised that she was wearing a long white cotton nightgown. Who had changed her? The maid perhaps? How humiliating.

Crouching down on all fours Buffy peered underneath the bed looking for the tell-tale ornate pot that she had seen in historical movies. She was both relieved and frustrated to not find one under the bed. Upon standing, she noticed the door that was positioned to the left of the fireplace. Could that be …?

Pushing the door open she stuck her head inside and was relieved to find that it was a bathroom. Quite an ornate one. Lovely patterned tiles in a soft cream colour covered the floor and a floral wallpaper decorated the walls. There was a claw-footed bathtub with an elaborate faucet and pipes, a cabinet with a porcelain sink and two separate faucets, and to Buffy’s absolute joy … a toilet. She quickly sat down and relieved herself with a satisfied sigh.

Upon finishing her business she glanced around trying to work out how to flush the toilet. The cistern was mounted high on the wall above the bowl and a chain hung down from it. She reached up and pulled it and a flushing noise was heard. Huh. Not really much different from modern toilets. She rinsed her hands in the sink, with very cold water, and then dried them on the towel that hung from the hook beside the cabinet.

Back in the bedroom and she nearly tripped over a young maid who was on her knees in front of the fireplace lighting the fire. She couldn’t have been more than 15 years of age. Buffy marvelled that someone so young was seemingly already employed in such a labour-intensive job. Times really were different.

“Oh … Good morning,” Buffy greeted her.  
“Mornin’ Miss,” the young woman replied without stopping her fire lighting activities. Her accent was undeniably English and reminded Buffy of the characters from the movie version of Oliver Twist.  
“Um … do you know where my clothes are?” Buffy asked.  
“Missus Pratt said to burn 'em … they were quite spoiled. I let the Mistress know you are awake,” she said and stood up wiping her hands on her apron.  
“What is your name?” Buffy asked her.  
“Elizabeth,” the young maid replied.  
“Hello Elizabeth. I’m … Anne,” Buffy replied holding out her hand for the woman to shake. The maid simply stared at her.

Buffy quickly realised that shaking hands was probably not normal behaviour for a young lady and she dropped her hand back beside her.

  
“I’ll go and get Missus Pratt,” Elizabeth said and hurried out of the room before Buffy could say anything more.

Buffy wandered over to the dressing table. A series of hairbrushes and combes were laid out on the table. Buffy took the opportunity to run a comb through her hair which had become quite tangled during her adventures. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Despite her battles with Glory the previous day, and her journey through the portal, her face was thankfully unmarked. However, she was acutely aware of her aching muscles and tender bruises in other places. She hoped that her Slayer strength would quickly heal her. It was very doubtful that there was any effective pain relief here.

“Good morning Miss. Summers,” a familiar female voice said behind her and Buffy turned quickly to see Mrs. Pratt standing just inside the doorway.  
“Good morning,” Buffy replied placing the comb back down on the dressing table.  
“I see your health has improved,” The older woman said, her eyes examining Buffy from head to toe.  
“Yes … I do feel much better … thank you,” Buffy replied.  
“I understand you were enquiring as to your clothing. I have instructed the staff to discard them. In the meantime, I will provide you with a more suitable outfit. Sarah, my lady’s maid, will be along shortly to assist you,” Mrs. Pratt informed her.  
“Thank you,” Buffy said gratefully.  
“When you have dressed, please join us in the dining room for breakfast,” Mrs. Pratt invited and with that, she turned and left. She certainly wasn’t one for chit-chat.

Buffy wondered who she was referring to when she said ‘us’. Probably her husband. After all, she was Mrs. Alexander Pratt, so it stood to reason that there was a Mr. Pratt.

Walking over to one of the windows Buffy parted the curtains and glanced outside. She was looking down at a lovely garden boarded by a high stone wall that marked the boundary of the property. The garden was quite large with lots of manicured bushes and neat flowerbeds. A cobblestone pathway wound its way through the garden. Several larger trees had red and orange leaves which indicated that the season was probably fall.

It had been late May when she was in Sunnydale fighting Glory, however, if she could be transported to a different year it seemed likely she could also end up in an entirely different month and season. Buffy wondered how she might find out the exact date. She somehow doubted that there was a calendar lying around.

“Excuse me, Miss. I have your outfit,” another slightly more refined female voice said from behind her.

Buffy turned to see another maid, presumably Sarah, standing by the end of the bed. She was a few years older than Elizabeth, but still quite young. Sarah was holding a long yellow gown and an assortment of white undergarments. This was going to be interesting.

Sarah helped her to dress, which Buffy was very thankful for as she was sure she wouldn’t have managed without her. The undergarments consisted of a pair of white cotton knee-length bloomers, followed by a petticoat, stockings, and to Buffy’s dismay a corset. She was laced into the corset from behind and commanded to inhale several times until it was finally fully fastened. The end result was that she could barely breathe, having to take small delicate breaths and move quite slowly.

The gown was quite pretty, made of a soft fabric which Buffy suspected was silk, it was coloured a golden yellow which matched her hair wonderfully. Sarah then styled her hair so that half of it was gathered upon her head and the remainder brushed to a shine and allowed to flow over her shoulders. The final touch was a pair of short black lace-up boots which were almost completely hidden by the length of the dress.

The whole process of getting dressed had taken half an hour. Buffy was starving by the end of the ordeal. Sarah led the way out of the bedroom and down a wide corridor, decorated with portraits of imposing looking people, and down a grand staircase to the lower floor. They were now standing in a foyer area next to what appeared to be the front door of the house. Clearly, this property was quite large. Her rescuers must be very wealthy.

Sarah indicated the direction of the dining room and Buffy wandered over to the room and hovered in the open doorway, unsure of whether she should knock or announce her presence in some way.  
There was a long dining table in the room surrounded by ten chairs. A large bay window was at the front of the room and it appeared to overlook a street lined with trees. Mrs. Pratt sat on the far side of the table and at the head of the table, obscured by a newspaper, was another person. A man.

“Miss. Summers, do come in, help yourself to some breakfast,” Mrs. Pratt beckoned to her indicating the buffet table that stood against the wall which was laid out with numerous platters.

Buffy walked over to the buffet. A man in a suit resembling a tuxedo stood beside the table, he nodded in greeting to her as she approached and handed her a plate. Buffy’s memories of Pride and Prejudice told her that he was most likely a footman or a butler, tasked with ensuring the food items were topped up and to assist with any serving requirements. Buffy timidly took the plate and carefully selected a portion of scrambled eggs, two small sausages, and a spoonful of sauteed mushrooms. After making her choices she turned towards the table. She took a seat opposite Mrs. Pratt.

The butler, or whomever he was, busied himself by pouring tea from a large teapot into a delicate china teacup that was in front of her. She smiled and murmured her thanks. Thirsty, she lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip. 

The man who was seated next to Mrs. Pratt had begun to close and fold his newspaper. She was able to finally see his features. He had a mop of golden wavy hair, glasses with thin metal rims, and he was wearing a tan coloured three-piece suit and dark blue tie. But even with his undeniably different appearance, Buffy recognised him instantly. Her pulse immediately began to quicken.

Oh, God! It was Spike.


	4. Chapter 4

She gasped and almost dropped the teacup before regaining her composure and placing the cup gently upon the saucer. Mrs. Pratt frowned at her but didn’t comment upon her strange behaviour.

“Miss. Summers, may I introduce you to my son … William.”

Buffy just stared at him. She was acutely aware that her reaction to seeing Spike was probably not an appropriate first-time introductory response from a presumably well-bred young lady.

William stood up and turned towards Buffy before bowing slightly and smiling at her.

“Miss. Summers, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am very pleased to see that you have recovered from your … spell, you certainly look much improved.”

Buffy continued to stare. He sounded so different. Gone was the familiar cockney English accent, and in its place was an extremely upper class sounding voice that reminded Buffy of Mr Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. The voice, coupled with his very different appearance, was so intriguing that Buffy was completely and utterly stupefied into silence.

Suddenly the purpose of her journey here came rushing back to her memory. Was this her destiny? To stop Spike from becoming a vampire?

Buffy tried desperately to remember what Giles had told her about Spike’s history. She knew he was sired by Drucilla who was herself sired by Angelus. Did that mean Angelus was in London right now? 1880 seemed familiar to her, it had stuck in her memory because it had been almost 100 years before she was born. Spike, or William the Bloody, was sired as a vampire in early 1880.

The sound of William clearing his throat jolted her back to the current situation, he was clearly expecting some sort of response and she shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts and focus on what she needed to say.

“Thank you … Mr. Pratt … I am most grateful to you and your mother for rescuing me,” she said. Despite the delay in her response, it seemed that her answer was appropriate and he simply smiled, nodded, and resumed his seated position.

She surveyed the various pieces of cutlery in front of her and hoped that she selected the right fork. It appeared to be the same one that Mrs. Pratt was using to eat her own breakfast with. William had a boiled egg in a silver egg up and was using a small spoon to eat that with. Buffy started to eat her eggs, it was without a doubt the most delicious food she had ever tasted. She really was famished.

“Mother tells me that you are from California, how is it that you came to be lost in the countryside?” William asked her.

Buffy sighed softly as she contemplated how she was going to answer the query.

“I travelled to England to take a position as a … governess, for a family living in the North. However, not long after arriving, I received word that my charge, their son, had … died … suddenly, and my services were no longer required. I was travelling back to London to try and secure a return passage on a ship when my horse was spooked and I fell. When I woke I was laying on the road and my horse was gone. Then your carriage arrived and that is all I remember,” Buffy explained in a rather long-winded story that she hoped sounded plausible.

“I see. Quite an extraordinary tale. We must send word to your place of employment … they have an obligation to ensure your safe return to America,” William concluded.

Buffy simply couldn’t think of him as Spike. He looked and sounded so different.

“Oh please do not bother them, they have experienced such a tragic loss. I am sure that I will be fine, perhaps I can write to my family in California and request they send me some money,” Buffy bluffed.

She had no idea how she was going to cope, but she simply couldn’t face any further questions about a fictional employer and a quest to try and contact them.

“Miss. Summers, that will take weeks … you cannot hope to sustain yourself independently for that amount of time,” Mrs. Pratt said in response to Buffy’s half-constructed plan.  
“Mother is correct, a young lady unaccompanied in London without any means of support cannot be allowed to fend for herself. If you will not permit me to contact your former employers then I will have to insist you remain here as our guest until you are able to contact your family in America,” William said in a matter of fact manner which suggested that the matter was concluded.  
“I … I … thank you,” Buffy stuttered.

What choice did she have? She really didn’t have any means of support and there was no family to contact at all. The only possible thing she could think of was to try and contact the Watcher’s Council which she knew was based here in London. But that was something she was loathed to do … her history with the Watchers was chequered at best, and that was in her time, she suspected that 19th-century Watchers were even more uptight and controlling. Somehow she figured she’d be better staying here. This was apparently part of the grand plan regarding her destiny. Why disrupt it now.

She turned her attention back to her breakfast. The food was delicious, although Buffy was acutely aware that she probably wasn’t using her silverware in the correct manner. She hoped that they would assume it was the fact that she was foreign or because she was still traumatised from her fall.

After a few moments, William resumed their conversation.

“Your family, in California, I assume you refer to your parents?” William inquired.  
“Ah, no … my parents are dead. However, I have an uncle that I can write to,” Buffy lied.

Well, it was somewhat true. Her mother really was dead, and her father might as well be, and Giles was sort of like an uncle, although she couldn’t very well write to him.

“Very well then, you will send a letter to your Uncle immediately. In the meantime, you will stay here, as a companion to my Mother. She is unwell and may require some nursing, I trust you have such skills as you were previously employed as a Governess,” William said.

Buffy was unsure if he was asking her a question or not, he seemed to be speaking with such a degree of authority that it was as if he was informing her of her own skill-set rather than enquiring. Buffy was also fascinated by the way in which William spoke on behalf of his mother who was largely mute for this entire conversation. He really was the master of the household. It was quite impressive in a somewhat chauvinistic and old fashioned way. She wasn’t used to deferring to Spike in such a timid manner but somehow, in this context, it seemed to be the appropriate behaviour.

“Ah … yes. I am quite skilled in nursing. I cared for my own mother during her illness,” Buffy stated.

At least that was the truth. Although Buffy really didn’t have to do much actual nursing, mainly ensuring that Joyce was comfortable and took her medication as directed. Buffy figured it was probably akin to 19th century standards of nursing, therefore she was sure she was qualified. She wondered what Mrs. Pratt was suffering from. She looked alright.

“William … if I may interject, are you quite certain that we should not try to contact Miss. Summer’s former employers? Tragedy aside, they do have an obligation regarding her welfare,” Mrs. Pratt said to her son.

Buffy held her breath awaiting William’s response.

“No Mother, I have made my decision. You are in need of assistance and Miss. Summers is clearly qualified, and available. Her services as your companion and nursemaid will more than reimburse us for her accommodation, I see no reason to bother a family in their time of grief,” William stated in a conclusive tone. 

Mrs. Pratt simply nodded in a quiet submissive manner. 

“Miss. Summers, my mother has recently been diagnosed with consumption. The doctor has advised that a warmer climate may be beneficial, therefore, we have returned to our London residence as opposed to the rather draughty conditions of our Norfolk estate. However, she has been advised to stay indoors as much as possible and limit her exposure to stressful situations and exertion, hence the need for a nursemaid,” William informed her.

Buffy nodded as she took another sip of her tea. Urgh. She hated tea. But something told her she was probably going to be drinking quite a bit of it.

“I assume you are well educated, given your status as a Governess, therefore you will also serve well enough as a lady’s companion. I will instruct the household staff to address you as such and I will provide you with a weekly allowance to ensure you have the ability to purchase any items which you will need during your stay. I understand your belongings were lost along with your horse?”  
“Ah … yes, I did not have very much but everything was lost along the way,” she replied timidly.

Her lies really didn’t sound convincing in her opinion and she was completely flabbergasted that he seemed so willing to accept her story. Buffy suspected that Mrs. Pratt was a great deal more jaded towards her circumstances. But, for now, at least, the older lady remained quiet and deferred to her son’s decision.

“Very well then. Mother, please arrange for a dressmaker to visit this afternoon and for Miss. Summer’s to visit the local retailers to purchase necessities. Miss. Summers, it has been a pleasure, however, I must depart for my meeting,” William said standing. “Thank you … um … Sir.”  
“You may address me as William,” he responded with a smile.  
“Thank you, William. Please call me … Anne,” she responded.  
“What a coincidence. Your name … it is the same as Mother’s. Well, good day Anne, I will see you this evening,” he said and with that, he swept out of the dining room.

Buffy gazed after him. Spike always was quiet good at dramatic exits. It seemed he hadn’t necessarily gained those skills as a vampire, rather, he had already possessed them as a human.


	5. Chapter 5

Buffy and Mrs. Pratt continued their breakfast, chatting politely about the weather and Buffy’s ordeal. After about 20 minutes the older Anne stood slowly from the table and said to Buffy …

“Please accompany me Miss. Summers, I will show you the main floor rooms, and introduce you to Mrs. Johnson,” she said leading the way out of the dining room.

She walked quite slowly, relying quite heavily on her cane. It was more obvious now that the older lady was quite ill. Buffy wondered what consumption was. She had heard of the term through reading certain texts in English class but hadn’t really paid much attention. It was something to do with the lungs or breathing. God, she wished she had studied harder in school. How ironic.

Buffy accompanied Mrs. Pratt as they toured the house. It turned out that the home wasn’t as large as Buffy had originally thought. Beyond the dining room and foyer area were two large rooms, interconnected by an archway. They resembled living rooms and also a den or study. Mrs. Pratt referred to them as the north and south drawing rooms. There was also a library and a music room towards the rear of the house. Buffy was wondering where the kitchen was located, however, towards the end of their little tour, Mrs. Pratt indicated a smaller staircase leading down into what appeared to be a basement area.

“The kitchen and other amenities are located downstairs, you may have a need to visit them as part of your new duties, however, I do not make a habit of negotiating those narrow stairs if I can avoid it. Mrs. Johnson will show you the layout of those facilities.”

They settled themselves in the north drawing room, seated on two sofas which were upholstered in lush patterned fabric. Buffy was still getting used to wearing the corset underneath her dress. She found that the only way she was able to sit relatively pain-free and be able to breathe was if she sat ramrod straight on the edge of the sofa. Well at least her posture would improve.

Mrs. Pratt reached to her side and tugged on a long thick braided cord that hung from the ceiling. Buffy had seen something similar in various historical movies and she knew it was how the masters of the house beckoned the servants. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, the door to the drawing room opened and a middle-aged lady entered. She was wearing a long black dress with a delicate white lace collar, there was no white apron like the ones that Sarah and Elizabeth had been wearing, therefore, she didn’t look like a maid.

“Ah, Mrs. Johnson. I would like to introduce you to Miss. Anne Summers. Miss. Summers this is Mrs. Johnson, our housekeeper. She is in charge of all the household staff. Mrs. Johnson, Anne will be joining our household as my companion and nursemaid. I trust you will make her feel welcome,” Mrs. Pratt said as a means of introduction between the two women.

Buffy exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Johnson.

“Mrs. Johnson. Please send for my dressmaker, Miss. Summers is in need of some new outfits. Also, please continue with her tour of the house and introductions, as my companion Miss. Summers will be residing upstairs in the guest bedroom, however, she may need to access the downstairs areas to fetch my medicines and other necessities as part of her nursemaid duties,” Mrs. Pratt informed the housekeeper.

“Certainly, ma’am. Miss. Summers’ if you will accompany me,” Mrs. Johnson responded.

Mrs. Pratt dismissed her with a flick of her wrist and so Buffy followed Mrs. Johnson for a further tour of the house. She was shown the kitchen, the laundry, the storage areas, the servants dining room, the back courtyard, the garden, and the stables. She also met the other staff. There were Sarah and Elizabeth of course, whom Buffy had already met. There was a cook called Mrs. Lawrence, a kitchen assistant named Agnes, a young boy named Harry who's job it seemed was to do a lot of the run around jobs, and Thomas, who was their footman. Thomas also acted as Mr. Pratt’s carriage driver, therefore, he was presently out driving William to his meeting. Buffy was not shown the servant’s quarters, apparently, the female staff slept upstairs in the attic area whilst Thomas and young Harry had quarters located above the stable block.

Everyone seemed quite nice, if not a little reserved. Buffy was aware of the fact that she probably seemed quite peculiar. Definitely not a lady, but also not a lowly servant. She doubted that she would be spending too much time downstairs in the kitchen area. It wasn’t as if she would be able to assist with any of the domestic duties, her cleaning skills were limited to using a vacuum, a Swiffer mop, a cleaning spray bottle, and a washing machine, none of which were invented yet.

She returned to the north drawing room and found Mrs. Pratt dozing on the sofa. The older lady was a light sleeper because as Buffy approached her eyes snapped open and she gazed at her guest.

“You may use William’s desk, over by the window, to write your letter to your Uncle. You will find paper in the top drawer,” she said to Buffy in a tone which was quite neutral. Buffy still wasn’t sure if her new employer was pleased to have her here or not.  
“Thank you,” Buffy said and turned towards the desk.

It was a large ornate roll-top desk that was currently opened. Crafted out of a deep redwood, possibly mahogany, and polished to a glorious sheen. There were three drawers on each side and a series of pigeon-hole compartments built into a shelf just below the rolling lid. The various compartments contained different pieces of paper or spiral-bound ledgers. On the main desk surface area was a green felt mat that apparently served as protection for the wood. Laying on the mat was the folded newspaper that William had been reading earlier.

Buffy glanced over at Mrs. Pratt and saw that the older woman had once again dozed off. So she picked up the paper and carefully unfolded it so as to examine the front page.

The banner at the top of the newspaper said “The Times” and there were four columns of tightly compacted text with various larger font sub-headings. No pictures which Buffy initially found odd, but then she realised that of course photography was in its infancy and would be unlikely to feature as part of daily newspaper printing. Just below the main title was the date banner. Buffy was most interested in this section. It simply read: Monday, September 15th 1879. So she had been transported 122 years into the past, not quite to the exact month but close enough. Although Buffy had already known that she was in the past seeing it in print on the newspaper made the whole situation seem so much more terrifying. She exhaled deeply. Oh boy.

Putting the newspaper aside, she began the task of drafting her letter. Finding the letter writing paper wasn’t difficult. It was in the top drawer as Mrs. Pratt had told her. Monogrammed with a fancy coat of arms that featured an inscription that Buffy couldn’t read as it was in another language. Latin perhaps? Was this Spike’s family crest? She had had no idea he came from such aristocratic origins. All her lessons on Spike had started from when he became a vampire and took up with Angelus, Darla, and Drusilla, there had been next to no information about his human life.

There was a small jar of ink and a fountain pen on the desk. Buffy had never used a fountain pen before. She hoped that she wouldn't have to fill it with any ink as she was certain that task would result in a huge mess. Thankfully, when she removed the cap from the pen and tested it on a piece of paper the pen flowed with ink and she was able to write, albeit with a somewhat blotchy script as the ink refused to flow evenly.

With the practicalities of writing the letter now solved, her main problem was what on Earth was she supposed to write, and to whom? She supposed it didn’t really matter, it wasn’t as if Giles was going to read the letter. Even if she posted it to America there would be no one to receive it for more than a century and she was certain it would be discarded. Although she couldn’t discount the probability that someone else might read its contents, and therefore, she felt the need to be rather mysterious. After a moment’s contemplation, she began to write.

_15th September, 1879._

_Dear Uncle Rupert,_

_I hope that you, Miss. Rosenberg and my other friends are well. I also hope that you are making good progress with your research into my current predicament. I find myself stranded in this strange land, although please be reassured that I am quite safe._

_I have been offered a position within the household of a Mr. William Pratt. You may recall the name, as did I upon meeting him. Although as I am sure you can appreciate, his current persona is quite different from his reputation. My new position will sustain me quite well until such time as you are able to send for me. I do hope that this occurs sooner rather than later._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Anne Summers._

Buffy’s handwriting was hardly the elaborate cursive that she had seen in old-fashioned books. However, she did make an effort to write in a neat angled script which at least looked better than her normal block-style handwriting. Locating an envelope in the drawer she paused for a moment wondering how to address the letter.

Sunnydale didn’t really exist in 1879. Buffy had undertaken significant research about the town’s history as part of her Slayer’s responsibilities and she knew that at this point in time the locality was just a small village with a collection of lingering gold mines left over from the California Gold Rush, a Franciscan Monastery and a school. Oh, and an ancient Hell Mouth. It would still be another twenty years until Richard Wilkins would arrive in California and establish the town of Sunnydale, making his pact with the local demons. Buffy shivered as she thought of that disturbing individual.

Eventually, she decided to address the letter to Rupert Giles and wrote the address of the Los Angeles chapter of the Watcher’s Council. As much as she did not want to identify herself to these people, she figured she may have to rely on them in the future if Giles, Willow, and the other Scoobies were unable to bring her home.

Mrs. Pratt had woken at some stage during Buffy’s letter writing endeavours and was busy reading a book. The older lady looked up as Buffy approached.

“Have you completed your correspondence?” she inquired.  
“Yes, I thought I might go to the post office and mail it. Perhaps also purchase a few items from the store,” Buffy replied.  
“Very well, I will send for Sarah, she will accompany you,” Mrs. Pratt said pulling on the cord that summoned the servants.

Buffy remained standing awkwardly beside the sofa upon which Mrs. Pratt was seated. She didn’t want to ask outright for any money, however, she couldn’t very well go to the store without any. Fortunately, Mrs. Pratt seemed to know what was bothering her. She gestured towards the desk.

“In the middle draw you will find a small purse of coins. Spend the money wisely,” she cautioned.

Buffy located the purse and thanked Mrs. Pratt profusely. The older woman simply waved her hand in a dismissive manner, although Buffy was certain there was a hint of a smile in her demeanour. Sarah arrived in the drawing room, and Mrs. Pratt instructed the young maid to accompany Buffy to the local shopping precinct. Sarah simply nodded and indicated to Buffy that they should go. Mrs. Pratt reminded her to be back within two hours as she had an appointment with the dressmaker.

Prior to leaving the house, Sarah handed Buffy a bonnet which matched the yellow colouring of her gown and also a white parasol. Now she really felt like a character from a historical movie.


	6. Chapter 6

As they opened the front door of the house they came face-to-face with William who was apparently returning from his outing. He looked quite dashing in his suit and top hat. So much different from the spiky peroxide blonde hair, black jeans, and long black leather coat that was to become his signature look in the future.

“Miss. Summers … Anne … are you going out?” he inquired.  
“Yes, Sarah is accompanying me to the post office so I can mail the letter to my Uncle,” Buffy replied.  
“If you will allow me, I would very much like to accompany you on your stroll,” he said gallantly.  
“Ah … of course, if you wish. Sarah …” Buffy replied, unsure about whether or not she should dismiss Sarah or not.  
“Thank you, Sarah, you may return to the house now, I will accompany Miss. Summers,” William interjected on her behalf.  
“Certainly, My Lord,” Sarah replied and withdrew into the house closing the door behind her.  
“Shall we?” William beckoned to Buffy as he turned to retreat down the front steps and held out his hand to provide her with support as she descended.

Buffy smiled to herself. Spike offering to assist a poor damsel in distress down a very short flight of stairs. The irony of the situation was profound, considering the huge number of young women that he was destined to slaughter in the near future.

The concept of destiny returned to Buffy’s thoughts. Surely it wasn’t her destiny to stop Spike from becoming a vampire. Was it? That would have an absolutely huge impact on the course of history. She knew that Spike was responsible for killing more than 5,000 people as a vampire. He was considered to be one of the worst vampires of all time. If all those people were allowed to grow older and have children it would definitely alter the future. Not to mention that Spike was also destined to kill two Slayers. If she altered that path it would mean a change to her own destiny of becoming a Slayer.

Unless of course she is not supposed to return to the present, rather, she was supposed to stay here and protect this vulnerable human family from the evil of Angelus’ gang and live out her life in Victorian England. Buffy gulped. That destiny sucked.

She was aware that William was speaking to her as she strolled along daydreaming.

“I am sorry, what did you say? I was distracted by my thoughts,” Buffy apologised.  
“I was enquiring as to your morning, was it enjoyable?” he repeated himself politely.  
“Yes. I met all the staff and I have written a letter to my Uncle which I hope will reach him quickly,” Buffy informed him.

In reality, her morning had not exactly been action-packed. Whilst meeting everyone and touring the house was interesting, she was aware that her days were probably going to be quite dull moving forward. Women didn’t seem to have much to do in this time, especially, rich, older, frail women like her new companion.

“I am glad that you have settled in well,” he responded.  
“Did your meeting go well? Was it in relation to your employment?” Buffy asked innocently.

He looked at her strangely for a moment before smiling kindly.

“Yes, it did go well. Although it was not linked to any employment as you infer. I own an importing and exporting company. Normally I do not report to the offices, however, today I had to meet with my lawyers,” he explained.

Buffy felt a bit silly. Of course, he didn’t have a regular job. He was very clearly a rich aristocratic gentleman who didn’t need to work like a normal person. Buffy briefly wondered if he was related to the royal family of something. Maybe he was a Duke or an Earl. Although surely Giles or even Spike himself would have imparted that sort of important information to her by now. No, he was probably just a regular rich landowner who also owned a successful business. Just like Mr Darcy in Pride and Prejudice. Buffy was eternally grateful that she had paid attention to that television series. Thank you handsome Colin Firth, she thought to herself.

“My apologies, where I come from most of the men are employed,” Buffy responded in defence of her inadvertent mistake.  
“Of course, California. What is your Uncle’s profession?” William inquired politely.

Buffy considered her answer for a moment. She couldn’t very well tell him that Giles owned a magic shop or that he was her Watcher. No, that wouldn’t be appropriate at all.

“He is a librarian,” Buffy eventually said. At least this was partly true. After all, Giles had indeed been the school librarian for three years.  
“Ah, a scholar. And your father, before he died, what was his pursuit?”

Buffy was even less inclined to talk about her father. Their relationship had deteriorated almost beyond repair in the past three years. He hadn’t even bothered to visit Joyce when she had been sick. Instead, he just sent a few emails and called once. He’d seemed quite relieved that Buffy was old enough to become Dawn’s legal guardian and he’d readily signed the necessary paperwork upon his ex-wife’s death. Buffy knew it was the influence of his new wife, who had been his secretary. That woman was a real bitch. But it still didn’t make up for the fact that her father didn’t seem to love her or Dawn anymore.

“He was a businessman, specialising in real estate acquisition, but he died quite a few years ago,” Buffy responded simply.

To his credit, William seemed to notice her reluctance to talk of her father and did not press her for details.

They had been walking along the broad neighbourhood streets for a few minutes now. Buffy had not been paying much attention to where they were or who was surrounding them. She looked around and noticed that the streets were quite congested. There were quite a few carriages pulled by elegant looking horses, a wagon or two laden with various types of merchandise, several people riding those strange bicycles with the very large front wheel and much smaller rear wheel, and a good deal of people strolling along in a similar manner to them.

There were couples with their arms interlinked. Mother’s shepherding young children along. Gentlemen walking briskly as if they were late for important business events. Also, quite a few household servants in their uniforms carrying all kinds of packages. Buffy was amazed by the sight. Everyone was dressed up splendidly and looked so elegant.

She thought she should probably enquire as to their whereabouts so that she could potentially navigate to the shops again in the future.

“This area is known as Mayfair, and we are currently on Mount Street. My house is located on Park Lane,” he told her casually.

Buffy recognised those names. From the board game Monopoly. The original English version. Giles had always insisted that they play that version, he always said the American version confused him. In response to William’s descriptions of their location, she simply nodded and smiled. She couldn’t very well tell him that she knew of his neighbourhood from a board game. He would never understand.

They were now approaching a series of terraced shops, each with a quaint bay window featuring an elaborate display of the retailer’s wares. There was a jewellery shop, a butcher, a women’s hat maker, a grocery store, a drug store, a bank, a post office, and a book store. Further up the street, Buffy could see the spire of a church and what appeared to be gates leading into a large park.

They entered the post office. William assisted Buffy to fold up her parasol and then gestured towards the bench seat against the wall. It seemed that well-bred young ladies did not conduct their own business, instead deferring to their chaperone if one was available. Buffy handed him the envelope and he glanced at the address she had written. He didn’t spend too long looking at it, rather he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pocketbook before approaching the counter and liaising with the clerk. Buffy sat patiently on the bench, quite stiffly because of her corset, and waited for him to complete the transaction.

“Do you require any additional purchases?” He enquired upon returning a few minutes later.  
“Yes, I would like to purchase a few items of … um … a personal nature,” Buffy concluded awkwardly, and William, to his credit, blushed slightly and did not pursue the matter.

Fortunately, he did not accompany her into the drug store, rather, allowing her to enter alone and conduct her own transaction on this occasion. Buffy entered the store and was immediately welcomed by a fragrant aroma of perfumes and soaps. A friendly young female clerk greeted her. Buffy enquired about a few items, mainly soaps, hair products, and other hygiene items. She was surprised by how little her purchases totalled. It really didn’t seem like much and she had more than enough coins in her purse to cover the cost. The clerk bundled her purchases up into a brown paper package and tied the bundle with string.

Upon exiting the store William turned to greet her and for a moment he stopped and gazed at her admiringly. It disconcerted Buffy somewhat. This was Spike. Albeit in a very different persona, but it was still Spike.

Buffy was very aware that Spike was in love with her in the present. He had declared as much on multiple occasions. She had even kissed him before, on two separate occasions. Firstly, when they had been under Willow’s spell and also more recently when he’d been badly injured fighting Glory. But right here, right now, he wasn’t Spike. Not yet. He was a gentleman, a very nice and generous man, and most importantly, he was human. Buffy must have had a strange expression on her face because William’s smile diminished and was replaced by a perplexed look.

“Anne? Are you alright? You suddenly look very pale,” he said in a very concerned tone.  
“I'm fine, thank you, it's just the heat and I am a little hungry,” she said quickly, deflecting his concern with a tangible excuse.  
“Come then, I know of a small tea house near the park, we shall have some refreshments,” he said taking her gently by the elbow and guiding her down the step onto the cobblestones and leading the way towards the tea house.

The park turned out to be a very ornate looking garden known as Berkeley Square. Large trees dotted the lush lawn providing ample shade. Wide pathways led from each of the four sides of the park in towards a rotunda in the centre. There were several bench seats along these pathways and numerous individuals occupied them, some reading, some watching young children playing, others simply chatting quietly to each other. William directed her towards a quaint little cafe, called Gunter’s tea shop. They entered and were offered a table for two by the window overlooking the park. Their waitress brought a pitcher of cool water, glasses, a teapot, cups, saucers, and a selection of small pastries and cakes. It ended up being quite an elegant spread. Nothing like the quick candy bar or packet of crisps that Buffy would normally grab when she was feeling slightly peckish.

“This is quite lovely,” Buffy stated after she had quenched her thirst and sampled some of the food.

She had taken the time to look around at the shop’s furnishings and also at various displays of cakes inside the glass cabinets. This establishment obviously made quite a few cakes as there were some rather elaborate ones on display, they appeared to be wedding cakes. There were several small tables like the one that they were seated at, as well as a few armchairs and bookcases overflowing with a variety of texts.

“Yes, I like it here. The owners are quite friendly. I often visit and catch up on my reading and other correspondence …” he trailed off, seemingly unable to clarify what he meant by correspondence.

Buffy was fairly sure she knew what he was referring to. In the various dusty old books that Buffy hated to read, there were a few references to Spike. One, in particular, had grabbed her attention at the time. It was a reference to his original nick-name. Before he had self-styled himself as Spike, he was known as William the Bloody. Buffy had originally thought that he earned that name because of his horrible deeds as a merciless vampire, but apparently, he was already known by that name as a human. His peers had labelled him with the moniker in reference to his bloody awful poetry which he was fond of writing. Therefore, Buffy was almost certain that this tea house was where William came to relax and write some of his verses.

“You write poetry, do you not?” she ventured bravely.

His demeanour changed immediately. He looked over at her, making eye contact, and seemed to be searching her eyes for answers to her apparent psychic knowledge. His lips trembled slightly and Buffy was certain his heart was beating rapidly beneath his clothing. The intense vulnerability was fairly short, he rapidly managed to regain his normal composure and casually took a sip of tea before responding to her question.

“How did you know that?” he asked curiously.  
“Your mother mentioned it, this morning,” Buffy lied.

She hoped that the senior Anne was indeed aware of her son’s poetry pursuits. She waited anxiously to see if this explanation seemed acceptable to William. After a moment he nodded, seemingly accepting of the fact that his mother had confided this information to her new companion.

“Yes, it is a hobby of mine. However, I do not tend to share my work with many people. It is very private to me,” he explained in a soft tone.

Buffy actually felt her heart contract with sympathy for him. Sympathy for Spike! What was the world coming to? Despite her better judgement she actually found herself feeling angry at his supposed friends who had apparently teased him and labelled him with such a horrible name. She reached across the table and gently laid her hand over his. He looked up suddenly, his eyes locking with hers. He then glanced down at where her hand was touching his, but he made no effort to move.

“I would love to read some of your work if you would like to show me,” she said kindly.

His gaze returned to her face and he seemed to contemplate this offer for quite some time.

“Perhaps …” he responded softly.

They continued to drink their tea and dine upon the cakes and pastries for a few moments longer before Buffy heard the sounds of a clocktower bell ringing nearby.

“Gosh, what time is it?” she asked trying to count the individual chimes. William took out his pocket watch and examined the dial.  
“Two o'clock,” he stated.  
“We really must return to your house, your mother instructed me to not be very long, she has a dressmaker visiting to … um … fit me for some new gowns.”

Buffy hoped that her description of what a dressmaker did was somewhat accurate. She hadn’t wanted to use the term ‘measure’ in front of William, she was afraid he might find that inappropriate.

“Certainly,” he said rising from the table and summoning the waitress who presented him with a handwritten docket which he glanced at briefly before handing over a banknote.

They strolled home via a different set of streets that more or less ran parallel to Mount Street. Along the way, William indicated a few houses that belonged to friends of his.

One, in particular, seemed to cause him some difficulty as he said the name. Cecily Underwood. Buffy sensed that there was some sort of history between the two of them, but could not remember if Giles or anyone else had told her whether or not Spike had had a girlfriend or other companion when he was human. She decided to jump right in and find out, it wasn’t really her style to be coy.

“Is Miss. Underwood your beloved?” she inquired.

She was pretty sure that Victorian England gentleman did not refer to women as their girlfriends, so she substituted the most appropriate word she could think of to describe the same thing. Beloved seemed fancy enough in this context. However, William’s reaction was one of shock and immediate stuttering. He clearly was not accustomed to being asked such a forthright question.

“Most definitely not. I would never presume … or at least … I … I … No, Miss. Underwood and I are not courting, and almost definitely never will,” he finished strongly with a firm resolution.

But the damage was already done, Buffy was now definitely aware that William Pratt, aka Spike, had feelings or at least had recently had feelings for one Miss. Cecily Underwood. Buffy wondered whether or not the poetry writing was for her benefit.

“I see, my apologies then,” she said simply as they continued to stroll past the large manor houses.

They did not speak much more during the return to the house. It wasn’t an unpleasant silence, but there did not seem like much else to say.

Thomas, the footman, opened the front door upon their arrival back at the house. He helped them with their various accessories and summoned Elizabeth to take Buffy’s package up to her room. Buffy followed William into the drawing room, where his mother was waiting for them.

“Ah, you have returned I see. Miss. Summers, your appointment with the dressmaker will begin shortly, please retire to your bed chamber and await her arrival. I must speak to my son, privately,” the older lady said to Buffy in a no-nonsense tone that Buffy didn’t dare reproach. She bid them a polite farewell and left the room.


	7. Chapter 7

The remainder of the afternoon was spent being poked, prodded, measured, and having to stand on a footstool for hours whilst various items where cut, tucked, and stitched by the dressmaker and her two assistants. It seemed that not only was she being fitted for five new dresses, she also had to have three ‘off-the-shelf’ varieties adjusted to fit her figure. This was so that she would have some items to wear immediately as it would take quite a few days for the first of her new gowns to be completed.

According to the dressmaker, this was quite unusual amongst her clients. It would seem that Buffy’s predicament of finding herself with no clothes whatsoever made her quite peculiar. She also got the distinct impression that this woman was going to gossip about the situation incessantly just as soon as she left the house. Buffy wondered whether that was what William and his mother were discussing downstairs. Oh well, she didn’t really care what a bunch of 19th-century snobs may or may not say about her.

When she was finally left to her own devices it was 5 pm according to the large grandfather clock in the hallway outside her bed-chamber. Sarah had visited her room earlier to inform her that the evening meal was served promptly at 7 pm and she would need to start preparing at least 45 minutes earlier. Buffy figured she had time for a bath whilst she waited for the lady’s maid to help her dress.

She managed to get the bath faucets to operate easily enough. They appeared to be quite new and the levers slid easily to allow water to flow from the two outlets. There was no mixer tap, rather, separate hot and cold spouts. It took quite a while for the large tub to fill and therefore it was nearly 5.30 pm when she finally stepped into the bath. She sighed deeply as her body relaxed beneath the warm water. She had purchased a variety of small soaps and creams from the drug store, but they had not had any shampoo and the cashier had seemed quite confused when Buffy had enquired about such a product. It seemed that shampoo as a retail product had not yet been invented in these times. Buffy managed to clean her hair with a lathered mixture of fragrant soap from one of the bars she had purchased earlier. She combed her wet locks through the clean water to remove any remaining suds.

Just as she was hopping out of the tub the bathroom door suddenly opened and Sarah walked in. Buffy was immediately humiliated to be seen stark naked, however, Sarah did not even seem to notice. Clearly, she had seen it all.

“Miss. Summers, you should have called for me, I would have drawn your bath and assisted you with your hair,” the young maid informed her.

She passed Buffy a large soft towel and Buffy eagerly accepted the covering, wrapping it around her body as fast as she could.

Earlier that morning Sarah had seen the numerous bruises, scratches and other wounds that Buffy was sporting after her battle with Glory. She hadn’t said anything at that time and once again she did not say anything as she helped Buffy to dry and to change into new undergarments, however, Buffy did notice that the maid was particularly gentle as she helped her to dry and at one stage her hand lingered over Buffy’s shoulder blade which had a very large contusion. Buffy was confident that her story about falling from a horse was a good enough explanation for her injuries. What she wasn’t so sure about was how she would explain the sudden absence of her bruises in less than 24 hours when they almost certainly would be gone due to her Slayer ability to heal rapidly. Although for some reason she still felt quite stiff and sore which was unusual for her.

Sarah helped her to dress in an elegant dark blue evening gown, she was given long silk gloves to wear and was even provided with a few items of jewellery, on loan from Mrs. Pratt. Her freshly washed hair was towelled dry, brushed to a glorious sheen, and styled in an elaborate upstyle that she would never have been able to create herself. These people definitely dressed well for dinner.

It was ten minutes to seven when she descended the stairs. Not quite time to eat yet, but she heard voices in the south drawing room and so she approached and hovered in the entrance to the room. Mrs. Pratt was the first to notice her standing there.

“Come Miss. Summers, have a drink with us,” she beckoned.

The older woman appeared to be in quite a jolly mood this evening which was an interesting change from her earlier demeanour. Thomas was also in the room and he quickly fixed Buffy some sort of drink and handed it to her as she walked towards the small gathering.

Mrs. Pratt was wearing a deep red velvet gown with matching gloves. Her hair was also neatly styled. William was standing beside the fireplace wearing a fancy black dinner suit, complete with tails and a bow tie. They certainly made for a very formal group. Buffy took a tiny sip of her drink, unsure what it was, and was immediately horrified by the taste that assaulted her senses. What was this stuff? It was horrid.

Both William and his mother noticed her reaction but were polite enough to not smile or laugh.

“I take it you are not accustomed to drinking gin,” Mrs. Pratt observed as Buffy bravely attempted another sip for the sake of politeness.  
“I am not really accustomed to drinking any type of alcohol. At home it is not … encouraged … for young people,” Buffy said in a rather vague attempt to explain her aversion.

She couldn’t exactly tell them that she wasn’t yet 21 and therefore not legally allowed to drink and that when she did partake she actually preferred beer. It hardly seemed like an accepted ladylike beverage in this time. She wasn’t even that enthused about drinking wine although she definitely would have preferred that over this horrid spirit.

“Ah, I assume that your Uncle’s house is part of the Temperance Movement,” William concluded.

The Temperance Movement? What on Earth was that? Presumably, something to do with not drinking alcohol but Buffy had never heard of it and therefore did not feel comfortable discussing it. She simply smiled slightly and took another polite sip of her gin. Thankfully Thomas rang the dinner bell at that moment and she was able to escape that particular line of questioning.

The rest of the evening went well enough. They ate an extensive three-course meal that left Buffy feeling quite full and afterwards they retired into the music room at the rear of the house and William entertained them by playing the piano. He was an exquisite musician and he expertly played several classical music tunes. Buffy recognised some of the compositions as Giles was fond of them and often had a CD of the music playing in his apartment. She was pretty sure it was Tchaikovsky.

It was 10 pm when Buffy bid them both good night and retired to her bedroom. She was thoroughly exhausted after her rather confronting day. Preparing for bed was not an easy task though and once again she required Sarah’s assistance to unlace her corset before she could slip into her nightgown and finally climb into bed. She fell asleep almost instantly. Thankful that she didn’t have to go on patrol. The vampires of this time were another Slayer’s responsibility, she was taking a break.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few weeks passed by quite quickly, which surprised Buffy considerably. She had been certain that she would be bored without her Slayer duties or her friends or even her college studies as a distraction. But it turned out there was quite a bit to learn and to experience in the 19th century.

Her main duties consisted of being a companion to Mrs. Pratt. The older lady didn’t yet require much active nursing for her condition. She was still able to navigate her way around the house independently, although she did need assistance on the stairs. Her appetite, energy levels, and breathing all seemed to be adequate, so Buffy didn’t worry about her health too much. She was quite a lonely woman though. Most of her friends were staying away from the house, due to her infectious condition, and therefore she missed the regular conversation, entertainment, and gossip that these social connections provided.

Being a companion was fairly easy. Buffy simply had to keep Mrs. Pratt entertained. She would read to her, played cards with her, went for the occasional stroll around the neighbourhood, and much to her disdain allowed the older lady to teach her to embroider. Mrs. Pratt had been shocked that Buffy was not proficient at needlepoint, which apparently was a mandatory female skill in these times.

During their various activities, Mrs. Pratt queried her about her life and family, especially her tales about America. Buffy had never been more thankful that Giles had insisted she research California history as part of her Slayer responsibilities. She invented a somewhat plausible story that her parents had settled in California during the gold rush. After his sudden death, which Buffy said had occurred ten years earlier, she and her mother had taken up residence with her Uncle, Rupert, who was a librarian at the Los Angeles Public Library. Buffy also constructed the storyline regarding her arrival in England which, according to her tale, had occurred after her mother’s illness and death, one year ago.

The days began to get cooler during October and the older lady started to experience some chest congestion. This prompted Buffy to research the disease known as consumption. Consulting a thick textbook on household medicine and surgery that she found in William’s library Buffy learned that it was another term for the disease tuberculosis.

She had definitely heard of tuberculosis and knew it to be quite a serious and very often deadly disease, especially in these times before modern medicines. The textbook said that patients went through a series of good and bad stages, with cold climate often preceding a turn for the worse. Ironically, one of the reasons that Buffy was familiar with tuberculosis was because Giles had once told her how 18th-century folklore had associated the condition with vampire legend because the wasting away of the body due to the infection quite closely resembled a corpse drained of blood.

Buffy also found a book on etiquette in the library and she took to reading it whilst Mrs. Pratt had her afternoon nap and when William was out. The book helped her with quite a few social customs that allowed her to avoid making a complete fool of herself.

During these initial weeks of her stay, William was absent during the day. He claimed to have meetings owing to the fact that he and his mother had only recently returned to London after an extended period spent at their estate in Norfolk. Once or twice a few serious looking gentlemen had visited the house and were clearly discussing business with him. They looked a lot like lawyers in Buffy’s opinion. But Buffy also suspected that he was actually spending quite a bit of time at the café writing his poetry. Once she and Sarah had taken a stroll down to Berkeley Square and she had observed him through the window of the tea house, reading intently.

Of course, he still dined with them each evening, but these events were so formal that their conversations were often restricted to a recount of the daily activities, or a brief review of the latest book that she was reading to Mrs. Pratt. Occasionally, William would tell them news of greater London and also other parts of the world that he had read about in the newspapers. In particular, William told her of any articles that focussed on America as he assumed she would be interested in stories from her home country. She politely listened to his depictions, but when questioned on the specific events or people she always feigned ignorance of politics or business.

It wasn’t until late October that he began spending more time in the house. He seemed comfortable with her presence and reassured that his mother was much improved as a result of having a competent companion and nursemaid. They took to playing chess in the afternoons whilst Mrs. Pratt had her nap. Buffy was only vaguely familiar with the game and thus he had revelled in the chance to teach her. He was quite skilled and one day he informed her that his father had taught him to play as a young lad.

“You don’t normally speak about your father. Were you close?” She commented spontaneously just after he had taken one of her knights.

It was quite a personal question, certainly much more intimate than their normal exchanges.

“Not particularly. He travelled quite regularly and conducted business in London often,” William responded quietly whilst fiddling with her captured chess piece.

It was clear that he was somewhat uncomfortable with the question.

“How old were you when he died?” she probed gently.  
“15 … he fell from his horse during a hunt on our estate,” William said in a soft trembling tone.  
“I know how hard it is to lose a parent. I'm sorry for your loss,” she in a comforting tone.  
“Thank you,” he whispered in a barely audible voice.

Buffy wondered if there was more to his change in demeanour. Was it simply grief? Still after all these years? Or was there more to it? She suspected that William possibly hadn’t lived up to his father’s expectations, and may have been told as much whilst his father was alive. She gently placed her hand on top of his again, just as she had done weeks earlier in the tea house.

“I too inherited a familial legacy when I was 15, I know what it's like to have great responsibility placed upon you at a young age. William … I think you have done a fine job taking care of your family business and looking after your mother.”

She was aware that this statement may well cause more intrigue and questioning. But she didn’t care, it felt right in that moment to say those words.

Rather than answer her, he simply moved his hand so that he was fully clasping hers, gripping it tightly. Her heart quickened at his intimate gesture. She looked up at him and suddenly she knew what her destiny was. Oh boy. Why was her life like this? Couldn’t she just have a normal boyfriend?

After that rather emotional afternoon, their relationship strengthened. He began spending a lot more time around the house, and even started taking her out. They visited the theatre and a few art galleries. She told him how her mother had been an avid art historian and he listened to her stories about Joyce for hours.

Of course, Mrs. Pratt noticed the change in her son. One day whilst Buffy was in the north drawing room concentrating on her current embroidery piece the older woman stood and announced that she was going upstairs for her regular nap. Buffy began to pack away her sewing supplies. As she shuffled past Buffy’s chair the old lady paused and placed a hand upon her shoulder. This was quite an unusual gesture from her normally prim and proper mistress.

“Miss. Summers … Anne. I have noticed that you and my son have been spending quite some time together.”  
“Yes, that is true,” Buffy stated simply.

There wasn’t much more to add. It was true, and Buffy wasn’t sure exactly what Mrs. Pratt was hinting at.

“He seems much happier … thank you.”

Buffy didn’t respond verbally, rather, she simply nodded in acknowledgement. She had the feeling that Mrs. Pratt’s rather simple statement was actually quite powerful and that it was just her aristocratic 19th-century personality which was preventing her excessive display of gratitude.

“I was wrong about you Miss. Summers. When you first arrived I counselled my son to send you away, however, he was adamant that you stay. He was intrigued by you. At the time I thought it foolhardy, but I now see that you are a good person and a positive influence on William.”

With that rather startling confession the older woman continued to walk slowly away towards the door where Mrs. Johnson was waiting to assist her up the stairs, Buffy called after her.

“Mrs. Pratt …”  
“Yes?” The older lady said turning to look at Buffy.  
“I will look after him, he will be alright,” she said.

It was a fairly simple statement but the underlying meaning was strong. In the older Anne’s opinion it permitted her to commence the process of succumbing to her disease, she was now reassured that William would be alright in her absence. To Buffy, it meant that her opinion of William, and thus also of Spike, had changed. She was now committed to him, even though she was fully aware of what he was destined to become.

A week later everything changed.


	9. Chapter 9

Mrs. Pratt had a particularly bad episode of coughing and difficulty breathing during the early evening of November 12th. It had been a particularly cold day and the house was decidedly chilly despite the burning fires in almost every room. She retired to bed and claimed to not want any dinner. Buffy became increasingly worried and finally, at 6 pm she asked Thomas to go and fetch a doctor. William was not yet home, which was somewhat unusual for him as he was normally home promptly at 5.30 pm to begin dressing for the evening meal.

Dr. Gull arrived at 6.20 pm, just as William was also arriving home. Both men quickly made their way up to Mrs. Pratt’s bedroom. There they found Buffy sitting beside her employer’s bed wearing a simple blue dress and an apron, she also had a white cotton mask tied around her face covering her nose and mouth. Both the doctor and William appeared shocked by her appearance.

Putting aside his amazement the doctor began his examination, not that it consisted of much. He used a long funnel type instrument to listen to her chest and he frowned as he listened. He then simply told Mrs. Pratt that she needed to keep warm and to try and raise herself up in the bed to ease her breathing. That was it. Buffy was horrified. However, she was determined to make Mrs. Pratt more comfortable.

Walk to the far side of the room, where at Buffy’s request, Elizabeth had just set up a bowl of hot water. She proceeded to wash her hands and rinse them in a slightly diluted carbolic acid solution that she had purchased from the drug store earlier that day. She had seen them using carbolic acid as a sanitiser on Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman and therefore figured it would be useful.

As she turned back towards the bed she was aware of the fact that both William and the doctor were staring at her.

“I see that your nursemaid subscribes to the theories of Dr. Lister,” the doctor observed to William.

William did not respond straight away, rather he simply opened his mouth and closed his mouth in stunned silence. Finally, he said …

“She is from America, her Uncle, who is her guardian, is a scholar,” as if this explained everything.

Buffy wasn’t sure who this Dr. Lister was that the doctor referred to, perhaps another doctor? Someone who had discovered and written about germs perhaps?

Buffy approached Mrs. Pratt’s bed and removed her blood-soaked handkerchief, providing the gasping woman with a fresh one, she then adjusted the pillows so that she was slightly raised. As she worked she responded to what the doctor and William had said earlier …

“I have been researching this disease, and I understand that it is quite infectious, therefore I believe that we should all be washing and sanitising our hands and wearing masks when attending to Mrs. Pratt from now on, especially if she is experiencing an acute episode like this one,” Buffy said in what she considered to be a fairly knowledgeable statement.

She had no idea if there were any books in circulation in 1879 which spoke of the infectious nature of tuberculosis. However, she knew for a fact that it was contagious and that the first line of defence against any type of transferrable disease was to wash one’s hands and wear a face mask.

“Well, well. I too have read Lister’s journal articles about the benefits of sterilisation of medical utensils and such to prevent infection. I do not suppose it could do any harm in this situation, well done Miss,” the elderly doctor commended her. William also smiled at her and offered his gratitude before accompanying the doctor out of the room.

Unsatisfied with the medical treatments prescribed, Buffy went down to the kitchen and spoke to the cook about obtaining some specific herbs and other ingredients. She then prepared a balm that could be applied to Mrs. Pratt’s chest. Tara had formulated the recipe and used it to treat Dawn when she had a bad case of bronchitis. Buffy was fairly sure that the concoction had a good dose of witchcraft as its origins although she couldn’t be 100% certain.

William returned to his mother’s room just as Buffy was finishing up applying the balm. He hurriedly looked away in embarrassment at seeing his mother’s bare chest, even though her breasts were at least partially concealed. Mrs. Pratt didn’t even notice, she was extremely drowsy, the balm had a somewhat sedative quality.

“William, there is nothing to be bashful about. Her modesty is well preserved,” Buffy said to William as she buttoned up her employer’s nightgown.

He slowly approached the bedside and allowed himself to take his mother’s hand. Suddenly he remembered the hand washing ritual and he quickly turned towards the basin to sanitise his hands. Buffy smiled.

“What did you apply to her chest? The doctor did not prescribe anything specific,” William asked.  
“It is a home remedy, mainly herbs, I was taught how to make it by a local … ah … Indian lady from a tribe near my home,” Buffy told him, desperately hoping that her explanation sounded plausible.  
“Indians? You mean to say that you liaise with the local Indigenous population?” he asked, surprised.  
“Occasionally. They are quite skilled in medicine and healing, they helped me with some tonics for my mother when she was ill,” Buffy lied.

Well, it was somewhat true. Tara’s witchcraft was heavily influenced by local Indigenous folklore and she and Willow had worked together to help provide Joyce with some pain relief remedies when she was experiencing her severe headaches.

“Interesting. I was under the impression that California was still experiencing a great deal of hostilities amongst the native peoples and the settlers,” he said.

Buffy considered this for a moment. He was probably right, she knew enough about history to realise that. Thinking for a moment she decided to answer with a cut-down version of the truth.

“Where I live there are many other dangers, much worse than the white settlers. The native people have always worked tirelessly to protect the area and contain these dangers. I have been fortunate to have the opportunity to work with them and learn from them,” Buffy explained whilst she continued to tuck in the additional blanket that she had placed on Mrs. Pratt’s bed.

Buffy was drawing upon her knowledge of the local tribes who had lived in the Sunnydale area prior to the town being founded. In particular, she had studied the Navajo Slayer Naayéé’neizgháni who had been mortally wounded in a battle with a powerful vampire in the mid-1800s.

The silence that followed her statement caused her to look up at William and she saw that he was staring at her with a very strange expression on his face.

“You amaze me Miss. Summers, these tales of your homeland are very intriguing,” he finally said.  
“I assure you, my life really is not that interesting,” Buffy said lying through her teeth.

They dined together that night and continued to discuss Mrs. Pratt’s health. William told her that the doctor had suggested they consider travelling to a sanatorium in Switzerland which apparently was experiencing some success with the treatment of consumption. Apparently, he was considering it. Buffy was fairly certain that he wouldn’t end up doing so. She knew from her limited studies of Spike that he was definitely sired by Drucilla in London sometime in early 1880.

The thought of him encountering Angelus, Darla, and Drucilla filled Buffy with dread. She had rarely given thought to the human origins of a vampire, instead assuming that once the soul was removed from the body that they were effectively dead and therefore only inhabited by an evil demon. Even with Angel, she had never taken the time to learn about his human life in the 18th century. She believed that his newfound soul was not his original one but rather a substitute assigned to him as a means of torture, as punishment for killing the young gypsy girl. Everything that Giles had ever taught her regarding the true personality of vampires was that they were simply pretending to be their host in order to gain access to a slew of potential new victims. He'd told her that they remembered key information from the human’s life and used this intel to manipulate.

However, after spending time with Spike in his human form she was recognising more and more of his personality which was still evident in his modern vampiric form. Information that served him no purpose as a vampire, such as his appreciation of music, his love of reading, and his dedication to his poetry. She was starting to believe that modern-day Spike might have retained quite a bit of William’s true nature despite the demon that now controlled his blood lust desire. That might explain Spike’s constant declarations of love for her.

At 9.30 pm she bade him good night. After checking on Mrs. Pratt who was resting comfortably, she retired to her bedroom. Sarah helped her to undress and change into a nightgown and then the young maid left her for the night. However, Buffy could not sleep. Thoughts of vampires and her own slayer duties dominated her thoughts causing her to toss and turn.

Buffy had noticed that her strength had diminished rapidly since her arrival. Where she had once been quite capable of shifting heavy items with ease and recovering from injury rapidly she now felt quite weak and helpless. She had tried to maintain some degree of physical fitness by exercising in her room. Push-ups, squats, weight-lifting with various household objects. But this had become increasingly harder over the past six weeks. The last time she had tried to do a chin-up using the sturdy bed frame as a bar, she had ended up falling in a heap upon the mattress as her arm muscles were no longer capable of supporting her.

Another rather unfortunate occurrence, which had occurred last week, was the arrival of her period. As a Slayer Buffy enjoyed the fact that she did not experience menstruation like normal women. It wouldn’t be appropriate for a Slayer, who was constantly tracking blood-hungry vampires, to regularly loose blood through an uncontrollable source. Therefore, in their infinite wisdom, the Shadowmen, who created the Slayers, ensured that whilst on active duty a Slayer would not be handicapped by such a primal bodily function.

Of course Buffy had had periods before. From the age of 13 until she became a Slayer at 15 she had dealt with them, albeit with the convenience of modern sanitary products such as tampons. This time she had been forced to ask Sarah for advice and was extremely grateful that the maid had not seemed surprised at all. She had simply shown Buffy the supply of white flannel cloths that were stored in the cabinet in her bathroom and advised her to place the soiled ones in the tin bucket beside the toilet and they would be cleaned regularly.

These physical changes worried Buffy substantially. She could sense that she was no longer an official Slayer. Probably because she had left her natural timeline and there was already a Slayer in 1879 so there was no need for two. Even though in her time there were two Slayers, herself and Faith, it had not been normal practice for there to be any more than one per generation throughout the history of Slayers.

Buffy couldn’t quite remember who the current Slayer was and where they were living. She knew that there was a lady called Belle Malone in Kansas during the late 1880s. But there was a good chance that Belle had not yet been activated and that there was another Slayer, possibly one here in England, who currently held the title. If Angelus and his crew were in England, which they probably were, then there would be a strong need for a Slayer to be here as containment.

It didn’t really matter, it wasn’t like she planned to seek out the current Slayer. That wouldn’t really help her current predicament. It’s not like she could effectively explain that she had time-travelled back to the 19th century from the early 21st century to seek out her destiny which apparently had a lot to do with a future master vampire named Spike. That barely even made sense to her and it would definitely sound like nonsense to anyone else.

The real issue with her loss of strength was that she knew she would be powerless to confront Angelus or Drucilla if and when they surfaced in London. Assuming she was still here to witness William’s death and the siring of Spike. Angelus would kill her without a second thought and she knew it. He was definitely not gentle caring Angel during this period of history. No, if she was still here during the incident she would have to simply be a silent witness and possibly act to protect Mrs. Pratt by shepherding her away. Perhaps they could go to Switzerland.

After more than an hour of tossing and turning and contemplating the horrible events that the near future held she decided that she needed to get a drink. The pitcher of drinking water that normally sat on her dresser was empty, and she knew, from past experience, that drinking the water from her bathroom taps was not good. The pipes gave the water a sharp metallic taste which was quite disgusting. So the only thing to do was venture downstairs and visit the kitchen.

Poking her head out of the bedroom she surveyed the hallway. Empty. This floor featured a total of four bedrooms. Three on the west side of the house and also the master bedroom which occupied the entire eastern side. Recent renovations that had been completed in the house had adjusted the layout of the rooms slightly to include the various ensuite bathrooms. Buffy was glad that she had arrived after these had been installed, as she would have hated to experience the prior methods of bathing and toileting.

As quietly as possible she went downstairs. The house was dark and silent, everyone must be in bed. Feeling a little more confident Buffy headed towards the other stairs which led down to the kitchen. However, just as she was about to descend the stairs she heard some gentle music coming from the music room.


	10. Chapter 10

The door to the music room was closed, however, as Buffy approached the room she could see a faint strip of flickering light beneath the door. The music was clearer now. Piano. Classical music. The tune seemed familiar to Buffy although she was unsure of its name or composer, it wasn’t one of the ones she had heard Giles’ play.

She knocked on the door but did not hear any response, the music carried on seamlessly. She briefly considered going back to bed and leaving him alone, but something stopped her. It was the music. The tune was so beautiful and she simply had to listen to it more closely, it was almost hypnotic. She pushed the door open and stepped inside closing it behind her. She didn’t want anyone else to hear the music and come to investigate.

He hadn’t noticed her yet. The piano was positioned in such a way that his back was facing the doorway from where she had entered. He was also quite absorbed in his playing. Whilst this was quite a gentle tune with slow hand/finger movements it did seem to be quite complex. She waited patiently for him to finish, before daring to say anything.

“That was lovely, you play very well,” she said simply.

He actually jumped in surprise at the sound of her voice. Swivelling on the bench seat he gazed at her for a moment in shock. He had removed his necktie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and also his waistcoat. His suit jacket having also been discarded. It was the most casual she had ever seen him dressed since her arrival.

Finally, he found his voice.

“Anne … what are you doing here? Dressed in … your … nightgown? You must …” he stammered.

Buffy looked down at what she was wearing. The long white linen nightgown was probably the most conservative piece of sleepwear she had ever worn. It featured long sleeves, a high collar, and stretched down to her ankles. She also wore a pair of woollen stockings underneath the drab gown so the only parts of her body that were exposed were her hands, neck, and head. It was hardly revealing, but she could appreciate that it was rather unusual for a young lady to parade around in such attire.

“I could not sleep, I was headed to the kitchen for a glass of water when I heard the music, I simply had to listen … it is a very beautiful tune.”

He nodded and took a sip of his whisky which he’d had sitting on top of the piano.

“Beethoven’s Für Elise, it is one of my favourites,” he said simply.  
“Will you play it again … for me?” she asked taking a seat on the chair closest to the piano.  
“Of course,” he said and positioned himself to play.

The lovely gentle melody began and Buffy closed her eyes and swayed slightly as she listened appreciatively. When the music stopped for a second time she slowly opened her eyes to find William looking directly at her. His pale brown eyes framed by his glasses looked so vulnerable and lost in that moment. Buffy was inclined to get up and give him a hug. She didn’t though.

“William, may I ask you something?” she asked instead.  
“Of course, but first, I should offer you a drink,” he said hopping up from the piano seat.

He strode over to the beverage table which contained several crystal goblets of various spirits and other alcohol. He momentarily surveyed the options, there wasn’t very much water remaining in the pitcher, not enough for a full glass. However, Buffy had decided she no longer wanted water.

“I will have the same as what you are drinking … whisky is it not?” she said.

She’d drunk whisky a few times, although usually mixed with some sort of soda. It was also Giles’ preferred spirit so she had also tasted a few varieties of Scottish blends on the rocks.

“Yes … however, I thought you did not drink alcohol very often?” he inquired as he picked up the whisky carafe.  
“I don’t usually … however, I do prefer whisky over gin if I am allowed a choice,” she explained.  
“I see … I will remember your preference,” he said as he handed her the glass.

She smiled at him in response. Taking a sip, she found that the beverage was actually quite nice, dry but not smoky like the sort that Giles tended to drink. This blend was quite smooth and warmed her throat.

“You were going to ask me something?” William reminded her as he sat down on the adjacent chair.  
“Ah … yes … will you read me some of your poetry?” she asked him.

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes examining hers in what seemed to be a search for sincerity.

“I recently made a vow to myself that I would never publicly recite my poetry again,” he said finally.  
“Why?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.  
“It was not particularly well-received by someone for whom I had written it for,” he said quietly.

Buffy concluded that this must have been Cecily Underwood. William had clearly had a crush on her, and it must have been one-sided. She had rejected him, probably even scorned him.

“William, you can trust me,” she said.

He nodded, but he still did not move. He was clearly contemplating whether or not to open himself up to her in this manner. It was obviously a difficult decision for him.

Finally, he stood and left the room. Owing to the complete absence of a farewell, Buffy could only assume that he would be returning so she did not follow him. After a few minutes, he returned. He was holding a leather-bound notebook. He stood beside the fireplace and looked at her, but did not make any effort to open the book or start to read. He appeared to be working up the courage.

Finally, he said …

“I have been working on this verse for quite some time. Originally it was intended for another. However, recently I believe it to be better suited for someone else,” he said mysteriously.

Buffy nodded and this appeared to reassure him somewhat. He slowly opened up the book and taking a deep breath began to read …

_“My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,_   
_midnight descends in raven coloured clothes,_   
_but soft … behold!_   
_A sunlight beam_   
_cutting a swath of glimmering gleam._   
_My heart expands,_   
_‘tis grown a bulge in it._   
_Inspired by your beauty…_   
_effulgent.”_

As he finished reciting, Buffy realised that she was crying. The verse had been absolutely beautiful. It was also so accurate. Without knowing his own future William seemed to have astutely predicted the darkness that would soon be taking him, yet was still able to see hope in some sort of saviour. Buffy assumed that this new protagonist was her. Who else could it be?

Buffy couldn’t help herself. She stood suddenly and closed the space between them. In a most un-ladylike and forward manner, she kissed him. Passionately.


	11. Chapter 11

He didn’t respond at first. She could feel his rigid posture and pursed lips and for a horrible moment, she thought she had drastically overstepped the mark and would be rejected horribly. But then he seemed to come alive in her embrace.  
His lips relaxed and began to move in response to her kiss. His arms wrapped around her waist and his body seemed to melt into hers.

Her tongue explored his lips, begging entry, and after a moment he parted them allowing her to deepen the kiss. She heard him moan gently and this only encouraged her even more.

It wasn’t like kissing Spike. Not at all. Spike was an experienced, worldly, 148-year-old vampire, who knew how to kiss and was probably a skilled lover, although Buffy had never gone that far with him. Spike tasted of cheap alcohol and cigarettes, he spelt like modern cologne, and he was extremely confident even annoyingly cocky. Whereas William was completely the opposite. He was nervous, clearly inexperienced, and tasted of expensive scotch. He had never smoked a cigarette and he was definitely not cocky. It was as if she was kissing Spike's identical twin, his very, very different twin.

She ran her hands over his shoulder blades and down his back, then back up and through his hair. In return, he pulled her in even closer. Their hips were now roughly aligned, although he was slightly taller than she was, and she could very much feel his arousal pressing against her stomach.

Their embrace continued for a few more seconds before William seemingly realised what he was doing and how inappropriate it was. He pulled back and turned away, striding back over to the fireplace and standing with his arms on the mantel and his head bowed down in apparent shame.

“My sincere apologies Miss. Summers, I should never have taken advantage of you like that,” he said sorrowfully.

Buffy was dumbfounded, after all, she had been the one who kissed him. Was it his uptight aristocratic persona that convinced him that he should be the one in control of the situation?

“You have nothing to apologise for. I am quite alright,” Buffy ventured cautiously.

She didn’t dare to go over to him, afraid that she would scare him off completely.

“I am glad of that I suppose, but I should still have been … more …” he trailed off and remained quiet for a few moments.

She resumed her seat and took several more sips of her whisky to try and calm herself down.

“Do you not like me?” Buffy eventually asked.

She was fairly sure of what he would say but she still wanted to hear him say it, and she thought that he needed to hear himself say it as well. He spun around to face her but did not approach.

“Of course I like you, Anne, I like you very much. It is just that … it is not acceptable behaviour for a gentleman,” he explained in a miserable tone.

She slowly stood up and approached him.

“Where I come from, there are very different rules to how individuals are allowed to conduct themselves, especially if they are in love,” she ventured cautiously.

She was well aware of the fact that he knew that American society was not all that different to England, especially in these times. However, she was betting on the fact that he was at least a little suspicious of the fact that her background story was not exactly as it had been portrayed. That there was a great deal of mystery behind the sudden arrival of Anne Summers.

He allowed her to enter his personal space once again and simply looked down at her forlornly.

“Anne … I …” he muttered in a nonsensical manner which was obviously a method of masking his nerves.  
“It is alright William. I’m right here, and I loved your poem, ” she replied and she kissed him again.

This time he did not push her away. They embraced for quite some time, getting more and more adventurous. Eventually, though it was Buffy that broke them apart. It was becoming evidently clear that things were about to progress beyond the realms of any sort of decency, especially 19th-century English definitions of decency. She simply couldn’t allow her historical legacy to include a scandalous affair in the music room of her benefactor. Even if it was only William or Spike who would know.

“Good night William, I must leave now. I will see you tomorrow,” she said, fully aware of the state that she was leaving him in.

He didn’t reply straight away, rather, he took a moment to regain his composure and adjust himself in an attempt to hide his rather obvious arousal.

“Good night Anne,” he eventually said and with that, she turned and left him alone.


	12. Chapter 12

The next few weeks proved to be particularly torturous for both of them. Mrs. Pratt’s health declined substantially and therefore Buffy was extremely busy caring for the older lady. She rarely left her bedside and often had to be persuaded by Sarah to actually take to her own bed-chamber and sleep.

William was equally concerned for his mother but also appeared to be anxious to at least speak to Buffy about their encounter in the music room. Buffy wasn’t deliberately ignoring him, but she was so exhausted each night that she couldn’t possibly spend additional time with him.

It wasn’t until just before Christmas that Mrs. Pratt’s health seemed to improve. By Christmas Eve she was well enough to leave her bed and join them for breakfast in the dining room. She ate a hearty breakfast and declared that she intended to attend the midnight Christmas Eucharist.

“Mother, I really do not think that to be a wise decision,” William immediately protested.  
“William, my dear, I am dying. It may not please you to hear me talk so bluntly, but it is true. This will likely be my last Christmas, and if I choose to attend the church service this evening then it is my choice. I hope that you will support me in that quest, it is very important to me,” she declared to her son in a very rare rebuttal to his otherwise unchallenged authority.

To his credit, William did not try to further persuade her, rather, he set about making arrangements for their outing later that evening.

That evening they dined as usual. Their meal was perhaps more elaborate than others, it was the festive season after all. Afterwards, they retired to the drawing room to relax prior to preparing for the church service. While they had been eating, the servants had been busy in the drawing room setting up the Christmas Tree by the bay window which overlooked the side garden.

Buffy was amazed at this tree and the intricate decorations that it contained. Her normal tree and decorations at home were quite basic, consisting mainly of electric lights, commercial foil tinsel and plastic trinkets. This tree and its ornaments were much more authentic and beautiful. The tree featured hand-crafted glass baubles in a variety of festive colours, each delicately decorated with swirling patterns. Tiny candles were carefully positioned amongst the pine needles so as to not provoke a fire hazard, they flickered gently in the soft evening light. Finally, a beautiful angel figurine sat atop the highest branch.

She approached it and stood silently admiring the different decorations for several minutes. After a while, she was aware of someone standing by her side. William.

“It is a lovely tree this year. We have our glorious Queen to thank for promoting this tradition,” he informed her.  
“Queen Victoria? Of course. I have read about the origins of Christmas Trees being from Germany,” Buffy responded.

She had no real recollection of where she had learnt that little piece of trivia. Probably Giles. He was always stating seemingly inane facts and tales.

“That is correct, but us English have well and truly adopted the tradition as our own. How do you celebrate Christmas in America?” He asked her.  
“Much the same way, we have Christmas Trees as well … although usually not as beautifully decorated as this one, and we sing carols, and some people attend church services,” Buffy replied.  
“Only some attend church? That is rather surprising,” Mrs. Pratt chimed in from behind them where she was sitting on the sofa.  
“Yes, it is perhaps unfortunate that many people have lost their faith. It is quite often a hard existence where I am from … there are many … challenges,” she said mysteriously.

It was hard to find the right words to describe modern-day America and in particular life in Sunnydale living on an active Hellmouth.

“Well, I never. Church will always be a part of my life,” Mrs. Pratt muttered to herself.

Mrs. Pratt hadn’t actually been to many services since Buffy had arrived, owing to her bad health. But the local priest was a regular visitor to the house conducting a mini-service and communion. Buffy had even attended one or two of them, finding them somewhat interesting if not entirely her cup of tea.

“And gifts? What is your tradition regarding the exchange of gifts?” William ventured.  
“We normally exchange them on Christmas morning. Children believe in the visitation of Santa … ah … Father Christmas … and they receive special presents supposedly from him. Other gifts are exchanged between friends and family members,” Buffy explained and he nodded.

She had bought him a book of poetry for Christmas, the little bookstore in Mount Street was full of classic books and the clerk had skilfully assisted her to select one when she had described some of the others that populated William’s library and that she knew influenced his own poetry writing.

“We have a tradition of opening one gift per person on Christmas Eve …” he said and she noticed that he was now holding a small gift-wrapped box out towards her.

She looked at it for a moment, and then up at him, then over towards Mrs. Pratt who was pretending to be intrigued by a book that she had hastily picked up. Buffy gulped nervously. The box was clearly a jewellery box, and she hoped that it wasn’t an engagement ring. She certainly wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment, not yet, not with what she knew was going to happen.

Smiling she reached for the box and carefully pulled the ribbon loose. Raising the lid she was greeted to the impressive display of two beautiful diamond earrings. At least she was pretty sure that they were diamonds. They were lovely. Larger pear-shaped gems hung delicately from a single string of four individual smaller diamonds to create a slight dangling effect.

“I have observed that you have pierced ears. So I had these especially commissioned, I hope that you like them,” he said as she stood there holding the open box and gazing down at the gift.  
“William … they are beautiful, thank you,” she finally responded.  
“Will you allow me?” he asked motioning towards her ears. She allowed him to affix the earrings.

Upon her arrival, she had taken to not wearing the multiple set of earrings that she normally wore. It hardly seemed appropriate in these times. Other women, she noted, seemed to wear clip-on jewels when dressing for dinner or other special occasion but only ever the one set, whereas she had three piercings in each ear.

“I also have a gift for you,” she responded, “It's in my room, let me fetch it,” she said.

Inside the poetry book, she had written a personal inscription in her neatest possible handwriting.

_To William, please do not stop writing your own poetry. I believe in you. – Anne._

As he read the words she was certain that she saw his eyes glisten momentarily before he regained his composure and thanked her for the thoughtful gift.

There were also small gifts exchanged between William and his mother, and between Buffy and Mrs. Pratt. Nothing quite as sentimental as the earrings or the poetry book but lovely gifts all the same.

It was a clear night, although bitterly cold when they stepped out to attend the church service later that evening. Thomas and William helped Mrs. Pratt into the carriage and Buffy immediately set about making the older lady comfortable with a mountain of blankets. She had already applied her special balm to her mistresses’ chest and she hoped it was enough to stave off the incessant coughing that was becoming all too common lately.

Church was actually quite interesting. The service was Episcopalian … although of course here they called it Church of England. Buffy had been to church before … her Grandmother on her dad’s side had been quite religious and had taken Buffy and Dawn along with her many times, before she’d died. So she was able to follow the service and even recognised some of the hymns.

It was after 1 am when they finally returned to the house, and Mrs. Pratt had clearly exhausted all of her determined willpower and she almost collapsed into her bed. Once Buffy was assured that she was comfortable and breathing easily they left her and went their separate ways to prepare for bed.

An hour later, when the house was quiet and peaceful, Buffy rose from her bed and tiptoed towards her bedroom door carrying her lit candle in its holder.


	13. Chapter 13

She was extremely nervous about what she was about to do, but it did not stop her from moving forward. She had contemplated it many times over the past month. Had even ventured so far as the hallway just outside of his bedroom but chickened out at the last moment. This time though it felt different. It was Christmas. Everyone was feeling jolly and relaxed. Mrs. Pratt’s health seemed to be improving and Buffy was once again free to think about the true reason for her presence in this era.

She did not knock on the door, it somehow didn’t seem appropriate and she also didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing the sound. Instead, she slowly turned the knob and thankfully it opened easily. She was relieved as she had worried that he may lock the door at night.

The room was dark, and quite large. Much bigger than her own bedroom. Her keen eyesight had diminished along with her other Slayer abilities and thus it took some time for her to become accustomed to the dark and determine the layout of the room.

Slowly she made her way over to the bed. She could see his prone figure, underneath the blankets, but it was impossible to tell if he was awake or not. Placing the candle on his bedside table she gently reached out and stroked his cheek. He shuddered at the sudden unexpected touch. It appeared that he had been asleep, although possibly not all that deeply. He rolled over to face her.

“Anne? What is the matter … is it mother?” he asked with increasing concern. He began to sit up and looked as if he was going to get out of bed.  
“She's fine. I … wanted to … please allow me …” she said, gently guiding him back down.

He lay there looking up at her, clearly terrified. It was such a refreshing change to see such vulnerability in the person who was soon to become the ever so self-assured Spike.

She slowly walked around the bed. He never took his eyes off her, but he didn’t say anything. She pulled back the covers on the other side and climbed into the large four-poster bed, shuffling her petite body over towards his. He shuddered when she touched his arm. He was so tense. Without saying a word she leant over him and kissed him. Slowly he reciprocated. Buffy was aware that this time there would be no retreating after a few passionate kisses. She had finally committed to this act and would follow through, regardless of any moral repercussions that may be associated.

He was wearing a long white nightshirt, not particularly sexy, but somewhat endearing in a repressed innocent way. She was almost certain that he was a virgin, however, she wanted to know for sure. She felt as if she needed to gain his permission before she took advantage of him.

“William … have you ever … done this before?” she murmured in his ear.  
“No … never…” he replied somewhat breathlessly and surprisingly without any apparent embarrassment.

It seemed that a 26-year-old virgin in 1879 wasn’t exactly something to be ashamed about. Perhaps more people saved themselves for marriage during this time. She did note, however, that he did not ask her the same question. Perhaps he assumed that she was simply an adventurous American who was overly confident and knew what she wanted. Perhaps he was afraid of her answer. Perhaps he knew full well that she was experienced. At any rate, he did not seem to care.

“Do you want me to … touch you?” she asked.

He stared at her, his eyes searching hers for some sort of confirmation that this was alright, that it was acceptable for him to feel this way. He gulped.

“Yes …” he finally said in the softest most uncertain tone she had ever heard.  
“It’s alright William … I will look after you,” she murmured before kissing him, urgently.

Her hands wandered over his entire body. At first just through his nightshirt, but eventually, she drew the conservative covering up and her hands ventured along his thighs towards his waist. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. This actually surprised her. She had been expecting some sort of long-johns or otherwise practical and extremely unflattering undergarment. Instead, he was quite exposed under his gown.

He gasped, quite loudly, as her hand crept over his extremely aroused cock. His hips bucked upwards in a seemingly involuntary motion and his back arched.

“Oh God… Anne… oh … yes!” he moaned.

Grasping his dick in her hands she rhythmically massaged it up and down in time with his almost frantic hip thrusting. He was moaning and squirming on the bed, clearly enjoying himself. However, it was becoming increasingly clear that he was not going to last long and Buffy was not prepared to have that happen just yet. She slowed her movements considerably and felt his body respond accordingly.

He opened his eyes and looked at her expectantly. She pushed herself up into a sitting position on the bed and proceeded to unlace the necktie on her own nightgown before slowly and quite seductively pulling the garment up over her body. She too was not wearing any underwear.

His eyes widened at the sight before him. It was quite clear that he had never seen a naked woman so close to him and so available. He didn’t move or try to touch her, clearly, he was nervous and very unsure of himself. Reaching out, Buffy clasped his hand and raised it towards her chest. She literally had to guide his fingers across her breasts and teach him how to encircle and pinch her nipples, however, he slowly gained confidence and gradually her arousal grew.

She moved so that she was now positioned over him, straddling his body although not mounting him yet. He craned himself forward into a semi-seated position, straining himself to reach her lips and kiss her, she reciprocated and they fell back down embracing passionately. His hands never left her breasts though. After a few moments, she felt that he need some more encouragement.

“Touch me William …” she told him.  
“I … I am …” he responded in apparent confusion.  
“No … touch me,” she replied, taking one of his hands and guiding it between her legs.  
“Oh … oh …” he murmured as he realised what she meant.

She had to guide him again. He seemed almost paralysed with nerves. But she didn’t mind. He stroked her most sensitive area with a gentle motion that whilst timid and a little clumsy did feel quite good. She knew she wasn’t likely to climax this time, and she was ok with that. This time it was about taking care of him and she could put aside her own needs.

After a few minutes, she halted his fingering and moved his hand away. At first, he appeared confused by the interruption, he looked at her questioningly seemingly unsure about what he was supposed to do now.

“Trust me …” she murmured as she bent forward and slowly, seductively ran her tongue along his dick before quickening her pace and culminating by taking the entire shaft into her mouth.  
“Aaahhh …” he moaned with an incredibly sharp intake of breath and a forceful upthrust of his hips.

She circled his length, which was considerable, up and down and she also sucked gently. Buffy actually wasn’t that experienced in this particular act, having only undertaken it a few times with Riley, and she had never done it without a condom. This was very, very different. Rather than the sterile taste of protective rubber, she could now taste his skin and she could feel his hectic pulse as his warm cock throbbed beneath her tongue. He was much, much harder than Riley had ever been. Much harder than either of the other two she had been with, Parker and Angel.

All of those three had had other distractions or had never really loved her, which limited their raw passion. William, on the other hand, was giving himself fully. With every inch of his being, he was committed to this act, to her body, and to them as a couple, she could feel it deep within her soul.

Despite his inexperience and awkwardness, it was the knowledge that he was hers and hers alone that fuelled her desire and to her utter amazement turned her on substantially. Without any effort exerted on his part, Buffy was aware of the fact that she was about to climax just from the emotion of the situation. The only other times she had managed to bring herself to this point of impending climax without any manual stimulation was in her dreams, when she was lucky.

Once again she began to realise that he was getting close, and she wasn’t prepared for it to end yet. Removing her mouth she adjusted her body and mounted him in a fluid motion that clearly took him by surprise. His eyes sprang open and his mouth opened as if to say something and then closed again when words betrayed him. Buffy leant forward and placed her fingers upon his lips soothing him.

She then began to rock gently, back and forth. He responded to her movements with a similar rhythm, but his moans were increasing in intensity and Buffy knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

“Anne … I … I …” he spluttered suddenly in some sort of attempted warning.  
“It's alright …” she whispered back.

He must have taken that as permission because suddenly his body spasmed and he was experiencing his first-ever climax in the presence of another person. She could feel his release, hear his desire in the rather loud moaning, and see his utter ecstasy imprinted all over his face.

Buffy relaxed upon his chest. He wrapped his arms around her protectively and held her tightly against his chest. This was an entirely new feeling for her. Normally sex powered her somewhat, gave her a feeling of insurmountable energy and a never-ending feeling of lust. She was not normally one who liked to cuddle and allow herself to be seen as weak or spent. But this time it was very, very different. She wasn’t sure if it was the absence of her Slayer powers, or the fact that she was actually in love with William, but it felt completely appropriate to feel this way and to lay in his embrace so vulnerable and exhausted.

They lay that way for quite some time, catching their breath and enjoying the closeness. Buffy could feel that his body had relaxed, all of his body, and therefore she eventually rolled over and lay next to him on the bed staring up at the bed canopy.

He reached for her hand and their fingers entwined. She knew he wanted to say something, needed to ask her questions, but she sensed that he was extremely nervous and perhaps scared of what he would hear. But she definitely owed him an explanation so she decided to start.


	14. Chapter 14

“William … there are some things about myself which I have not previously shared with you.”  
“Yes. I had gathered that. Anne, your history … and experience … does not concern me,” he said gallantly.

Buffy was aware that her rather brazen behaviour tonight was a major diversion from normal 19th-century protocol, at least the unspoken ‘rules’ that were associated with well-bred young ladies.

“It is not what you think … I can assure you of that. Where I come from, that sort of behaviour is perfectly acceptable, especially amongst people who care for each other as we do,” she countered.  
“America?” he asked in a confused tone.

This information was clearly contradicting his knowledge of society and of acceptable custom. 19th century America was, after all, not that different from England.

“Yes … but not the America that you are aware of. My home is not yet written about in newspapers or books,” she explained nervously.

She bit her lip as she waited for his response, unaware of how he was going to interpret this tidbit.

“Not … yet written?” he inquired curiously.  
“I … I'm not a normal young lady William, I am part of a long line of … warriors … who are tasked with an ancient duty to combat evil and protect the innocent. My home is in the future. I was sent here for a reason and I believe that reason was to find you.”

She closed her eyes as she said those last few sentences and felt her body and hand tense as she awaited his response. It was a seemingly ridiculous confession and she anticipated him laughing out loud and declaring her to be insane.

“I suspected as much,” he replied simply, utterly bewildering her.

She immediately raised herself up on one elbow and turned to face him. He simply returned her gaze solemnly.

“What do you mean? You suspected? How?” she asked incredulously.

He took a deep breath before answering.

“I had you investigated. Weeks ago, not long after you first arrived,” he answered.  
“Investigated? Really? By whom?” she asked in rapid-fire interrogation.  
“A law firm, Wolfram & Hart, they have offices here in London. They have a certain reputation of dealing with unique cases and clients,” he explained.

Wolfram & Hart … Buffy knew of this law firm. Angel had mentioned them. He had encountered the various legal staff and dealt with them as part of his business, Angel Investigations, in Los Angeles. From what she had heard, from Angel, Cordelia, and Wesley, the law firm was definitely not a regular operation, they said that some, if not all of the staff were actually demons or at least linked to demonic activity. Putting that knowledge aside she continued with their conversation.

“And what did they discover about me?” she asked nervously.  
“That you have no history, not in California, or America, or anywhere else that they searched. They could not find any records of a Miss. Anne Summers at all,” he told her.

She looked down at his face. This statement represented a major shift in their dynamic, undoing almost all of the past few months that they had spent together developing a friendship. Buffy was now aware of the fact that he knew she had been lying to him and to his mother, all along. That was certainly enough to be a deal-breaker in most relationships. She was suddenly feeling quite anxious.

“I … I’m sorry that I lied to you,” she said quietly. It was all she could offer.

He tightened his grip on her hand.

“Anne … it is alright. I have long since accepted that you must have had a very good reason to construct such tales. I could see that you were genuinely a good, caring person, and I trust you,” he reassured her.

She immediately felt her body relax. What a rollercoaster of emotion tonight was.

“But you had reason to believe that I was more than just a runaway with an alias?” she inquired.

He nodded solemnly.

“Yes, I first became suspicious because you did not ask to telegraph your Uncle. It would have been much faster than writing a letter,” he said.

Buffy rolled her eyes, silently cursing her own ignorance. Of course, the telegraph existed in this time. She hadn't thought of that. \

William of course could not see her personal recriminations. He was still talking.

“Now it is my turn to be truthful. I asked my lawyers to trace the person to whom you sent that letter. Rupert Giles. They were unable to locate such an individual in America, however, the address that you used did reveal some very interesting information,” he told her.  
“The Watcher’s Council,” she stated.  
“Yes. I will admit that I was initially mystified by this information, but the more that I read the more fascinated I became. I have spent a great deal of time over the past few weeks researching this clandestine organisation and its mission. I have also reached a few conclusions about you, but I am not entirely sure if they are accurate.”  
“Conclusions?”  
“I assume you are a Slayer. Possibly a very important and strong one, after all, you seem to have been allocated this rather unusual assignment that takes you far from your home and friends. However, I am unsure as to why you have been brought here … I know not of any vampires, nor have I ever encountered one that I am aware of. Why would this Watcher’s Council send you here, to my home … to me?”

He almost had it right. Buffy was amazed at his abilities of deduction and reasoning. This sort of information was normally far too much for a regular human to comprehend, she ought to know. It had taken a long time for her own mother to fully accept that her daughter was a Slayer, and her father had never acknowledged it.

The only snippet of information that William had misinterpreted was that he assumed it was the Watcher’s Council that had sent her back in time. Buffy chuckled to herself. As if that bunch of uptight stiffs would ever send a Slayer back to be with a future vampire. No, the powers that had sent her here were much more ancient than anything that the Watcher’s Council could imagine.

“They didn’t … send me that is … I was destined to be here, in this time, with you,” she began.  
“Why?” he asked quietly.

There was fear in his eyes, and Buffy’s heart ached in empathy. The information she was about to share with him was probably going to undo him, justifiably.

“William … when I first arrived I recognised you instantly, we know each other … in my time,” she told him.

He immediately sat up in the bed and hugged the blanket to his chest protectively.  
“Anne … what are you implying?”  
“My real name is not Anne. It is Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer … the chosen one … William, you are destined to become a vampire, quite a masterful one,” she said as gently as possible.

His eyes widened in shock and his breath quickened remarkably but he didn’t say anything.

“I thought at first that I was sent here to protect you, to stop it from happening entirely, but I now realise that my destiny was not to prevent it, but to meet you prior, to understand you better, to warn you perhaps, to be with you …” she continued.

He closed his eyes. His whole body was shaking now. Buffy was afraid that he was in shock.

“William?” she probed gently.  
“When?” he asked simply, opening his eyes and meeting her gaze.  
“Soon. Early 1880, I believe sometime around the Chinese new year,” she said.

It was information that one of the Watcher’s, Lydia, had told her once. She had been fascinated with Spike aka William the Bloody, even writing her thesis on him.

“How? Will I be bitten? By whom?” he interrogated urgently.  
“Yes. You will encounter a trio of vampires, very powerful ones. One of these creatures, a woman named Drusilla, will sire you,” she said simply.

There was no point in hiding the information. After all, it was his destiny.

“You know of these three?” he asked.  
“Yes. They are well known to me. The leader … Angelus … especially,” she said mysteriously.

She hoped that he did not require any further information about Angel. Thankfully, he seemed to be more interested in Drucilla, understandably.

“The woman … my sire …?” he asked.  
“You will develop a relationship with her. She will become very important to you,” Buffy explained.

His eyes widened as he grasped her meaning.

“No … I would never. I could never betray you like that …” he said, clasping her hand in both of his and gazing at her with desperate eyes. She simply smiled back at him.  
“It’s alright William. You will need her. I will not be able to help you as she can. She will teach you.”  
“Teach me? What do you mean? … Oh … oh, no … I cannot … I am not a killer,” he stuttered.  
“Not now, no … but you will be … it is your destiny…” she explained.

Buffy had thought about this for quite some weeks now. She had wondered whether or not she had an obligation to try and stop Spike from killing all those innocent people. But she had ended up reasoning that this was his destiny. That those people were supposed to die in that way. Like some sort of plague or natural disaster that is responsible for mass casualties, a master vampire is occasionally necessary to stem the human population of the Earth. Without death there would be too many people and the world’s resources would be overwhelmed. It was tragic but necessary. It was also why there usually was only one Slayer throughout the world at any time. If the Shadowmen had intended for all vampires and evil to be eliminated they would have created multiple Slayers.

Buffy looked at William. He appeared to be contemplating the information she had provided, although she was fairly sure he was in denial. Finally, he spoke …

“And you? You are a Slayer. Why are you here? Why have you not stopped me in … your time?”

Oh boy, if only he knew. Buffy wondered how to concisely summarise the past five years since she had first met Spike.

“Trust me, I have tried to stop you. Many times. But you are a very skilled vampire and have thus far managed to survive. Also, in recent months things have begun to change with us … you have changed … you have stopped killing,” she explained.

Buffy was not particularly sure about whether she could provide William with too much more detail. There was no way he could possibly comprehend the Initiative or the brain chip they had implanted in him. Buffy also wasn’t sure about her own feelings for modern-day Spike. In her world, he was still a soulless vampire, albeit a harmless one, who was infatuated with her due to some sort of sick lust.

But what if it wasn’t as she thought? What if his behaviour of late was actually influenced by real feelings? Even if those feelings were buried deep, deep within his conscience locked away and unable to be readily accessed or processed.

To his credit, he seemed to process the information quite well. His next question displayed a good amount of foresight on his part …

“You will be leaving me then?”  
“I believe so,” she replied honestly.  
“When?”  
“I don’t know. The powers that brought me here are not well understood by me or my friends. However, I don’t believe it is my destiny to stay here, therefore, I assume I will be returned to my home, probably before you … before you are turned.”

He gulped and looked at her anxiously. A single tear escaped his right eye and rolled down his cheek. Buffy reached forward and gently wiped it away.

“William. You have to submit to your destiny,” she said gently.  
“But all those innocent people? I assume you live many, many years in the future, how many lives will I be responsible for ending until we meet again and you are able to stop me?”  
“122 years. I will meet you slightly earlier than that, five years earlier, but I will not know you then. I will not know you until after we battle a powerful being known as Glory. You will prove yourself to me in the lead up to this battle and I will begin to trust you, to … like you,” she told him honestly.  
“Such a long time.”  
“Yes, and you will be undertaking quite a transformation in personality. To answer your question, you will take many lives. I cannot prevent that. Vampires are driven by some very powerful demonic forces and you will not be able to control yourself easily, but I know you are strong and I now know that you will retain at least some of your inner personality and kindness. It will be this strength that will bring us back together.”

Buffy suddenly felt exhausted. Confessing all that information to him in such a short time frame was intense. She felt like a major weight had been lifted from her shoulders and that she could now, finally, relax.

“I’m so tired …” she said laying back down alongside him.

He wrapped his arms around her in a protective, yet silent, embrace and she soon drifted off to sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

The next few weeks were quite conflicted for both of them. On the one hand, they had taken their relationship to an exciting place. However, on the other hand, the looming date of Chinese New Year which was in early February was casting an ominous shadow of them.

They spent almost every night together. William gradually became more skilled and confident in the bedroom. Buffy was very grateful that his bedroom was positioned well away from his mother’s room and not directly under the servants quarters because their activity was often quite loud.

On January 19th they celebrated her 21st birthday. This was a little strange for Buffy as she was aware that she had skipped approximately four months of the previous year due to the time travel but it was definitely January here and therefore it was her birthday. Her gift from William was a diamond pendant necklace which matched her earrings. He was definitely generous, these pieces of jewellery must have cost a fortune.

William continued his studies relating to vampires, the Watcher’s Council and Slayers. However, now he did not hide it from her. He showed her several of the books that he had located or been given by the legal team at Wolfram and Hart. At least two of them she was quite familiar with and she was able to show him some key passages and explain their meaning. He also consulted his lawyers once or twice and began putting his affairs in order. They made arrangements to sell his family business and established a trust fund which he intended to use as financial support over the next century. Buffy now knew where Spike got his money from. Although the modern-day vampire was not exactly known to live in the lap of luxury, he always seemed to have a lot of cash and had certainly managed to travel extensively throughout the years.

One night, in early February, as they sat in his bedroom, with the books scattered over the bed, he found a reference to Angelus. The book was not as old as the other editions, especially given the time period that they were currently in. It had been published sixty years earlier by a few Watchers who had observed the rise of a very powerful vampire, whose grandsire was The Master.

The chapter provided quite an accurate description of pre-soul Angel. Buffy had had the misfortune of encountering this version of him a few years ago, after their one-time lovemaking, and she knew that he was utterly ruthless, cruel, and capable of great harm in that state. Alongside the description was a hand-drawn sketch of him. It was surprisingly life-like and quite accurate. Buffy steeled herself for the inevitable line of questioning that she knew was coming.

“What is your history with this vampire?” William asked upon finishing the chapter.  
“It's complicated,” Buffy ventured in a somewhat lacklustre effort to explain.

She knew it was not going to be sufficient. 

“How so?” He pressed.

Did he suspect that they had been lovers? Surely not. In his mind, she was a Slayer, and everything that he knew of these fearless women was that they battled vampires, they didn’t fall in love with them.

“In my time Angelus is very different from the way that he is at the moment. He actually has a soul, and therefore he is not evil … as long as his soul stays in place. He has helped me and my friends on numerous occasions to battle other vampires as well as even more powerful evil forces.”  
“A soul? How is that even possible? Everything that I have read indicates that a person’s soul is vanquished upon them being sired as a vampire. It is one of the things that I am dreading the most,” he said in a somewhat hopeful tone.

Buffy knew where his mind was going.

“Angelus’ soul was indeed vanquished, or at least subdued or whatever happens to a human soul upon siring, for many years he was one of the most ruthless vampires on the planet. But he was cursed by a group of gypsies sometime around the turn of the 20th century, and they unlocked his soul or issued him with a new one or something like that. He now has a conscience and some extreme guilt because of his actions, but he is no longer evil.”  
“Is it possible that I might manage to attain a soul in the future? You said that I had changed in your time, that I had stopped killing,” he said hopefully.

There it was. She had known this was the hope that he would cling to. Buffy didn’t want to have to tell him the truth. It saddened her that he was about to lose his entire existence and become a monster, and not be able to do anything about it.

“No. You do not have a soul in my time. But you have definitely changed. At first, it was not what you wanted, it was forced upon you by some powerful men, but as you began spending more time with me and my friends you began to change. You were especially close to my mother, Joyce, and you look after my sister, Dawn. They, along with me, were the main ones to notice your change for the better,” Buffy explained and he stared at her silently.  
“But, if I don’t have a soul, how is it that you …” he trailed off, his voice catching in a semi-sob.

She was certain that he had been about to say “love me”.

“William. I did not love your future vampiric self at the time of my arrival here. I was no longer afraid of you, and it is true that we had shared a few tender moments, but I was definitely not in love with you. However, it seems that some ancient powers, that I don't yet fully understand, determined that my destiny is linked to you. This journey represents that. I am now fully aware that some vampires are capable of love, even without a soul, and that you are one of them. I love you now as a human, and I believe that I will be able to transfer that love to you in the future when I return, even in the absence of your soul.”

There she had said it. What a relief. And despite it being the first time she had said those words out loud and even the first time that she had admitted it to herself she knew that it was true, 100%. She looked over at him and noticed that tears had formed in his eyes and were threatening to spill. She crawled across the bed towards him and embraced him a passionate kiss which he immediately and urgently reciprocated. Suddenly they were tearing at each other’s clothes in an effort to be closer to each other.

Their lovemaking that night was much more passionate, more fraught with emotion, and yet more controlled than ever before. Both of them were fully aware that this could be the last time they were together, which scared them but also fuelled their desire. He lasted much longer than ever before, finally bringing her to the point of her own climax which he had not been able to do before.

Two days later she left


	16. Chapter 16

The morning had started just like any other. They had eaten breakfast alone in the dining room as Mrs. Pratt was unable to navigate the stairs any longer and opted to eat in her room, not that she was eating much food lately. He then went into the library to peruse a few books that he was currently studying and she decided to go out to the gardens for a short stroll. It was still quite cold and therefore she draped a shawl over her shoulders before leaving the house.

The garden was quite pretty, snow was still covering the lawn area and blanketing the trees. The pathways had been cleared by Thomas the day before so she found it quite easy to walk. As she turned the corner around the far end of the house, near the rear kitchen entrance, she saw Mrs. Johnson standing in the doorway talking to a young boy. It wasn’t their employee, Harry, but rather another child that Buffy had never seen before. The boy was holding a crate that contained fresh loaves of bread and other baked goods and Mrs. Johnson appeared to be inspecting his wares.

Suddenly the boy looked over at her and Buffy was immediately struck by the familiarity of his eyes. They were exactly like Giles’ eyes, albeit, much younger. The boy stared at her for a moment before returning his attention back to Mrs. Johnson.

“Alright Rupert, I will purchase one loaf of bread and three croissants,” she said to him.

Rupert? Surely not. How could this boy’s name be Rupert and also look so much like Giles?

“Excuse me…” Buffy interrupted … “What is your name?” she asked the boy.

Both he and Mrs. Johnson appeared slightly mystified by her request. Apparently, it was somewhat unusual for a person of her social position to express such an interest in a lowly delivery boy, but Buffy didn’t care.

“Rupert Giles Miss,” the boy replied politely as he took the coins that Mrs. Johnson was offering him in exchange for his baked items.  
“Giles … really? Where do you live?”  
“St. Giles Miss, over by Covent Garden, my family has owned a bakery there for many years,” he replied.

Mrs. Johnson had lost interest in their little exchange and had retreated back inside the house leaving them standing on the back steps.

  
“A bakery?” she murmured, not exactly directing her comment at him but rather mulling the concept over in her own mind.

Giles had never mentioned anything about his family operating a bakery, but surely there must be some connection … this boy’s eyes resembled those of her Watcher’s so much that they simply must be related.

Suddenly, as if some sort of strange hypnosis had come over him, the boy turned towards her and said…

“It is time for you to leave.”

Buffy was shocked, as was the boy when he regained his senses. He clearly remembered having said those words and yet didn’t seem to have any understanding as to why. He looked at her for a moment his familiar eyes searching hers for an answer and then he ran towards the gate.

“Wait!” Buffy called after him, but he was already gone.

Oh, God. How much longer did she have? She had to get back to William … now. She dashed inside the kitchen door and ran up the narrow stairs to the main floor of the house. As she reached the corridor outside the library she began to feel strange. Something was pulling at her, something unseen and yet quite powerful. She flung the door open and William looked up at her, startled. His face was a mixture of shock and confusion.

She couldn’t move any closer.

“William …” she managed to say and she saw that his expression changed as he realised the significance of her behaviour.

Then she was gone, being pulled quite quickly through a blinding tunnel of light. Screaming sounds assaulted her ears for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds. She began to feel nauseous and thought she might throw up. Then everything stopped. The light and sound was gone and she was deposited on the ground in a rather undignified yet somewhat gentler manner than she had previously travelled through the time portal.


	17. Chapter 17

It was dark and eerily quiet. Once again her head throbbed incessantly. She tried to sit up but was immediately met with an intense feeling of dizziness, so instead, she just lay there for a few moments. Eventually, she started to feel a bit better and was able to raise her head and look around.

She was laying on a bitumen road in a dark, quiet neighbourhood. Presumably, it was quite late at night. There were buildings nearby and modern cars parked along the side of the road. Well, at least she appeared to be back in her time. Slowly she staggered to her feet and began to walk. She felt slightly better than she had after her first transportation. This journey seemed to be gentler, or perhaps she was stronger. 

Buffy wasn’t really sure where she was. It might be Sunnydale but then again it could also be any other strange city or town. After walking for a minute she reached an intersection and she glanced up at the street sign. Maple Court the sign read. Sunnydale, she was back in Sunnydale! Maple Court was one of the main streets in town, it was where the Magic Box was located. She must be up the far end of it, in the more residential area. At least she knew where she was going now.

It took her twenty minutes to walk to her house. Her body ached considerably, she still felt nauseous, and her head was in agony. She stood outside the house for a minute, unsure about whether or not to go in. She was sure that she looked terrible and she wasn’t sure if there was anyone there. She certainly didn’t have her key.

Suddenly the front door opened and she saw Dawn standing on the porch.

“Buffy?” the younger girl called out in disbelief. She ran down the front steps towards her sister and embraced her in a fierce hug.

Dawn took her inside and lead her up the stairs to the bathroom. Buffy was absolutely filthy. Dawn set about undressing her sister, commenting briefly on the strange outfit that she was wearing. Buffy allowed Dawn to assist her. It wasn’t that much different to having Sarah assist her to dress each morning and thus not in the least bit embarrassing. After ten minutes Dawn had Buffy changed into some clean modern clothes and had encouraged her to wash her face. Buffy was beginning to feel a lot more like her normal self, although her head still hurt and she was still quite foggy.

Suddenly there was a noise below them, it sounded like a door being opened quite forcibly.

“What was that?” Buffy asked looking around the room with a scared look on her face.

Everything was still confusing to her and her head still ached considerably.

“It’s ok … it’s ok,” Dawn replied trying to reassure her sister.  
“Dawn! Dawn! Are you there?” a familiar male voice called from below.  
“It’s, it’s just Spike,” Dawn informed Buffy before turning and calling, “I’m here!” and she then left the room, headed to the stairs.

Buffy followed her sister and watched the interaction from the top landing. Dawn was walking slowly down the stairs and William … rather … Spike was standing in the open doorway in all his punk rock glory. He looked so different. Yet still so familiar. He glared up at Dawn and slammed the front door behind him.

“Thank God! You scared me half to death, or more to death. You … I could kill you,” he said to Dawn. Apparently, they had had some sort of altercation earlier.  
“Spike …” Dawn ventured softly, but he didn’t register her voice.  
“I mean it! I could rip your head off one-handed and drink from your brain stem,” he said rather gruesomely, yet Buffy sensed that he didn’t mean it at all, he had been worried about Dawn.

Buffy chose that moment to start descending the stairs and the movement caught Spike’s attention. Dawn saw his expression and simply whispered … “Look.”

Buffy looked at Spike as she walked closer to him. He stared at her, although his expression was initially not particularly surprised to see her.

“Yeah … I’ve seen the bloody bot before … didn’t think she’d patch up so …”

Suddenly his expression changed and he obviously realised. His eyes went wide, and for a brief second she saw something else in his gaze, a softness, he appeared to be searching for a connection.

“Ah, she’s kind of … she’s been through a lot … but I think she’s OK” Dawn stated.

Buffy looked down at her shirt and then back up at Spike he just continued to stare at her dumbfounded.

“Spike? Are you OK?” Dawn asked him after a moment.  
“Ah … ah … what did you do?” he asked Dawn, clearly mystified as to how she had managed to summon Buffy back home all by herself.  
“Nothing,” Dawn replied.

Spike continued to examine Buffy.

“Her hands …” he murmured.

Buffy quickly put them behind her back. She didn’t want him to see her in such a vulnerable injured state.

“Um … I was going to fix them … I don’t know how they got like that,” Dawn told him.  
“I do … she fell, probably quite hard onto a rough surface. Isn’t that right?” he said softly.  
“Yeah …” Buffy whispered, unable to meet his eyes.

He looked so different. It had only been a few minutes since she’d last seen him. He’d been alive then. Flush and healthy and with a beating heart. But it had been 122 years for him. More than a century of an extremely hard existence which was now culminating in this conversation that could potentially seal or destroy their fragile relationship. Would he remember her? Truly? Was he even capable of remembering her in that way? Of remembering their love? Buffy was absolutely terrified of his response.

He continued to look at her for a moment before seemingly realising what he was supposed to be doing. He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts and then reached over to her.

“Um … we’ll take care of you,” he said gently guiding her towards the living room. He looked back towards Dawn and said … “Get some stuff … um mercurochrome, bandages …”

“Ok,” the younger girl said and headed off to the bathroom to locate the first-aid supplies.

Buffy sat down on the sofa, Spike crouched down in front of her and gently took her hands in his. She had some pretty severe gravel rash on her palms where she had broken her fall against the road.

“How long was I gone?” she whispered.  
“147 days yesterday … um … 148 today … except today doesn’t count does it,” his eyes never left hers.

He clearly remembered her. This filled her heart with joy and hope.

“147 days and 122 years …” she murmured.

His expression changed, his eyes softened again, and for a brief moment he wasn’t Spike any more … he was William. He lifted his left hand up to her face and stroked her cheek gently before allowing his fingers to travel across to her right ear. She was still wearing his Christmas gift, she’d never taken them off.

“Your earrings …” he said softly.

Buffy heard the recognition in his voice, saw the pain on his face, knew that he was reliving their time together in his mind. 122 years. She didn’t know what to say.

“William …” she whispered.

He immediately focussed his attention back on her face and gazed seriously into her eyes, she could feel that tension rising up in his body as he held her aching hands. The softness in his eyes was no longer there, but he was still being attentive. Buffy knew that this was a name that Spike hadn’t heard for a long time. A name he’d pushed away and forgotten. His human name.

Suddenly the front door burst open and the house erupted into chaos. Giles, Willow, Tara, Xander, and Anya all crashed into the house talking hurriedly and exclaiming joy over her return. It seemed that they had finally managed to summon her back home but had not been aware of where she would arrive.

In the confusion, Spike was pushed aside and their tender moment was lost. Buffy allowed herself to be caught up in their celebrations but she was aware that her lover had quietly left the house.


	18. Chapter 18

Buffy didn’t see Spike again for more than a week. It seemed like she was never left alone. Dawn, Giles, Willow and Tara, the latter of which were now living in her house caring for Dawn, never left her side unless she was asleep. It was exhausting.

They had so many questions. It seemed that whilst they had successfully summoned her back home they hadn’t known from where she was coming. Giles had managed to cast a spell that was able to locate her soul and they had commanded her to leave her current location and return to them. He had been fascinated to hear that he'd actually communicated to her through a host who was also called Rupert Giles. It turned out that his family, specifically his Grandfather's family were indeed bakers in London in the 1870's and 1880's. His Grandfather was the little delivery boy, who would one day marry a Watcher named Edna.

She tried to answer all their questions but it was extremely painful for her to recount her tale and she left out the vast majority of the details. According to her story, she had time-travelled to England and encountered Spike. But she left out the fact that it was before he’d turned into a vampire, or that she had lived in his house, fallen in love with him, and lost her Slayer strength whilst she was there. They accepted her rather vague description at face value and concentrated their efforts on helping her to acclimatise.

After four days Buffy finally had an opportunity to spend some time alone gathering her thoughts. Her strength was returning rapidly, her Slayer powers almost all restored. However, with the return of these abilities came a very concerning realisation. Buffy, as a Slayer, was very attuned to her body. She could sense even minor physiological changes that might signify a potential weakness or injury. It simply wouldn’t do to have a Slayer who was suffering from some sort of disability or other affliction and thus her senses were very heightened.

The problem was that she now sensed that it wasn’t just her any longer, that her body was now accommodating another life form.  
_______________

“Pregnant? What on Earth are you talking about … Slayer’s can’t get pregnant,” Giles exclaimed incredulously when she gathered up the courage to tell her closest friends the next day.

Spike wasn’t there, of course, and neither was Dawn, Xander, or Anya. It was just Giles, Willow, and Tara.

“Well I’m pretty sure that I am … I can feel it,” Buffy concluded.  
“What like kicking? Surely you’re not that far along are you … you’re not showing at all,” Willow asked in a very surprised tone.  
“No … not kicking exactly, but I feel different and I’m pretty sure I can feel its heartbeat,” Buffy explained trying to put into words what she was experiencing.  
“But how? When? Who?” Giles asked in such rapid succession that she didn’t know where to start.

Taking a deep breath she prepared herself for the inevitable outcome.

“Well, how is fairly obvious … it happened in the usual way, no mystical miraculous conception here, just plain old simple sex between a man and a woman. When, well it definitely occurred sometime between Christmas Eve 1879 and February 8th 1880, but judging by how strongly I can feel this little stowaway I think I can narrow it down to the week between Christmas and New Year’s. I’m almost certain that I am about 6 weeks along. The who is much, much more complicated,” she said and waited for them to process the information that she had told them thus far.

Three sets of eyes stared back at her in amazement. She had not previously told them anything about meeting a man during her journey let alone having a relationship with one. She also hadn’t mentioned anything about losing her strength and regaining her human fertility.

“Buffy … were you … raped?” Willow asked softly, taking her hand and clasping it tightly.  
“What? No! Of course not. No, it was definitely consensual,” Buffy corrected immediately and firmly.

She definitely did not want them to think badly about Spike when they found out, or at least not think any more badly about him than they already did. It sometimes seemed that only Dawn truly accepted and loved Spike. The others tolerated him and cooperated with him when it suited them, but they were also quite capable of being dismissive and rude to him quite often.

“Buffy, is the father William?” Giles asked quietly.

Buffy looked at him, his eyes were very solemn and possibly harbouring a little bit of disappointment. He must have worked it out based on the dates she had mentioned and his knowledge of Spike’s vampire origins.

“Yes,” she said simply.

Giles immediately stood up and began pacing the room, frantically polishing his glasses and muttering to himself.

“William? Who is William? Buffy tell me … please?” Willow exclaimed in confusion.  
“William is Spike, or he was before Spike became a vampire. I met William and his mother when I was in London. I lived in his house for five months and served as a companion and nursemaid to his mother who was suffering from consumption,” Buffy explained.

Willow’s eyes grew wide with shock. She certainly hadn’t expected that piece of news. She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to say something appropriate but not finding the right words to express herself. Buffy looked at them both forlornly. Then she heard another voice pipe up from behind her.

“Are you happy … about the baby?” Tara asked her.

It was such a delicate non-judgemental and empathetic question that it shook Buffy to her core. She wasn’t sure why she was so surprised, Tara had always been quite attuned to people’s auras and usually guessed exactly what people were thinking and feeling.

“Yes … I think I am. I mean it’s a shock, definitely, and there is so much to think about and plan for, but deep down I’m happy,” Buffy said with absolute certainty.  
“And what about Spike? Will you be telling him? Raising the child with him?” Giles asked suddenly.  
“Well, I have to tell him. He, along with everyone else, will find out very shortly anyway. As for raising the child with him … I simply do not know. I fell in love with a human called William. I am not really sure how much of that person still remains within Spike. Possibly none at all, but I have to find out.”

Tara nodded supportively. Giles resumed his pacing and muttering. Willow still looked shocked.

“Will it be safe to include him in the baby’s life? He is a vampire after all,” Willow finally asked.  
“He would never hurt the child, I know that much. Spike has been nothing but supportive of me and my family for the past two years. He cared for my mother deeply and he’s always loved and supported Dawn,” Buffy said defending her lover.

After hearing her explanation Buffy could see that Willow also believed that Spike would be safe around the child. Good, now she just had to convince the others. She knew that Xander was going to have difficulty with the news.

“I know you and the others haven’t always seen eye to eye with him. Xander especially. But I know in my heart that he will protect this child with his whole being and I think he will do a pretty good job at being a father … if I let him,” Buffy stated.

Her Watcher stopped his incessant pacing and looked at her for a long moment, then he simply sighed with resignation.

"Very well, ít is clear that your mind is made up, I will support you ... we will support you ... and Spike," he said. 

Buffy felt tears well up in her eyes and she simply mouthed the words 'thank you' to him. It meant the world to her to have his support.

The remainder of the conversation centred around practicalities. They had conducted an official pregnancy test, after a hurried trip to the drug store. Then discussed things like doctors and her Slayer’s duties. Tara suggested that Buffy visit her doctor, a practising Wicca who would be quite understanding and possibly even knowledgeable about this unique pregnancy. It had been Giles who had suggested that she contact the Watcher, Lydia, and ask for her advice. He figured that she might have some practical tips regarding how to manage Spike, seeing as she was such an expert on his personality. Buffy liked that idea and made a plan to call her.

The next part was harder. She needed to know where her feelings lay, and for that, she needed to get to know Spike better.


	19. Chapter 19

“Spike? Are you here?” Buffy called from the doorway of the crypt.

It was 2 pm, broad daylight outside, therefore, she had surmised that he was probably sheltering here, where it was safe. No answer. She pushed the door open fully and entered, stepping down the two small steps into the main area.

Hawley Mausoleum, one of Sunnydale’s oldest, located in its first cemetery. It dated back to before the town was even known as Sunnydale, back when it was little more than a village attached to the nearby Franciscan Monastery and the local goldmines. Ethel and James Hawley had built it to bury their son who had died in a goldmine explosion in 1855. Buffy was unsure of exactly when she had acquired all this seemingly useless trivia, but it now served her well as it seemed she might be spending a fair bit of time here.

“Spike?” she called again, louder this time.

Perhaps he was asleep in the lower section of the crypt, the part that connected to the sewer tunnels. The tunnels allowed Spike to safely navigate around town during the day.

Still no answer. Buffy walked in further. She paused beside the main sarcophagus and looked at the hole that led down to the underground cavern. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe she should just go.

As she turned around she saw him, sitting on an armchair in the corner. He was semi-shrouded in the shadows and he was staring at her in silence.

“Oh God … you scared me. Why didn’t you answer when I called?” she gasped.  
“Dunno pet,” he replied in his non-committal Cockney English accent.

It felt so weird hearing him talk like that, with such un-refined slang. William would never have believed he would one day have become this … this common.

“I think we need to talk,” she said quietly as she approached where he was sitting.

She perched herself on the edge of the nearby sofa. It wasn’t particularly clean. Nothing in here was. She looked over at him and noticed that he was holding a small metal box.

“Yeah, I figured that was why you were ‘ere … well talk then,” he said taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

She rolled her eyes. Typical Spike. All the care and attention and love that he’d displayed just a week ago when she had returned was gone, in its place was … Spike.

“What’s in the box?” she asked him.  
“Stuff … personal stuff,” he responded dismissively.  
“May I?” she asked hopefully.

He looked at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes and handed her the box. It was a strange reaction. It almost seemed as if he didn’t care about the box or its contents. 

Buffy opened it up. Inside was a small stack of papers and photographs. She carefully took them out. The first one was the deed to his house in Mayfair. Attached to it was a much more modern looking letter bearing the logo of Wolfram & Hart law firm. The official letter, which was dated 1977, seemed to be indicating that the house was leased and was enquiring as to whether William would like to retain ownership of the property or sell it.

"You still own the house?" she inquired.

"Yeah ... but it's a lot different now ... been carved up into apartments."

The second document was a photograph, of Mrs. Pratt. It seemed to have been taken around the same time as Buffy had known her.

“What happened to your mother?” she asked him nervously, "I've been so concerned about her well being."

It had been bothering her all week. It was the single most unresolved element of her detour into the 19th century. She knew William’s fate, knew he had survived … well sort of … but she’d never heard or read anything about the fate of one Mrs. Alexander Pratt formerly of 1439 Park Lane, London.

“Bothering you? For a week? Geez, Buffy … how gallant of you. It’s been bothering me for more than a century,” he snorted.

It was an odd comment for him to make. Buffy knew that vampires didn’t really care about the dead. They killed indiscriminately because they had to, wanted to, they felt absolutely no guilt about it.

“So you killed her then?” she whispered knowingly.

She looked down at the photo as she said it. Perhaps it was for the best. The old lady was nearly dead anyway. Consumption was a lethal disease in the 19th century and Mrs. Pratt had battled it for almost a year, she had been weak and in pain.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said with a twinge of anger in his voice.  
“Ok … whatever …” Buffy retorted.

She continued to examine the contents of the box. There were other documents from the law firm, mainly financial statements. There were also newspaper clippings, stories from the late 19th century. Articles about a slew of deaths that had begun in the Mayfair region of London. Spike’s early days.

Finally, there were two much more familiar items. The first one was the book of poetry she had given him for Christmas. He’d kept it all these years. She looked up at him and smiled as she thumbed through the pages and re-read the inscription. He just rolled his eyes in return and took another drag on his cigarette.

The second familiar item was a letter. Buffy picked up the envelope and examined it, she could feel her hands shaking with realisation.

“You never posted it?” she asked.  
“No,” he replied simply in a neutral tone.  
“Why?”  
“I was curious, you clearly had something to hide,” he offered in explanation.

There was a brief silence. There wasn’t much point in being angry at him. She had already been aware that he’d had her investigated so it didn’t really matter that he hadn’t posted her letter. It wasn’t as if it was going to reach the intended recipient anyway. She carefully put the papers and other items back in the box and closed the lid before handing them back to him. He looked at the box for a moment and then returned it to a crevice in the wall of the crypt. His hiding spot.

She glanced around the crypt in an effort to avoid his gaze which felt almost penetrating. She wished she could read his mind. What on Earth was he thinking?

Finally, he sighed and broke the silence.

“Look … Buffy … I’m not him anymore. I can’t be him anymore,” he said.

His voice was a lot gentler, not William's voice, but Spike's more compassionate tone.

She looked up and over at him. Her face was a mixture of intense emotion, sadness, exhaustion, love, and determination.

“I miss him …” she finally said softly, on the verge of tears.

He didn’t answer straight away. Buffy wasn’t sure if he was going to. Did he even have an answer? Did he miss his own human persona? Did he miss her … Anne … and their life together in England? Her thoughts were interrupted by his sudden interjection…

“Buffy … it’s only been a few days for you. Of course, you miss him. But you have to understand that it wasn’t you who fell in love with William … it was Anne.”  
“What on Earth does that mean? I was Anne … I am Anne … it was just an alias,” she said defensively.  
“No … no you weren’t,” he said shaking his head before continuing … “Just like I’m not William anymore.”

Buffy felt deflated upon hearing those words. So it was true, William was definitely gone. But Spike was still talking …

“Anne was weak and helpless, she could never have fought me, or Angelus, or Glory. She would be unable to protect her family and friends. She is part of you … that’s for sure … but she is not you. You are the Slayer, the chosen one. You have a destiny to fulfil and it is not one that involves being in love with a helpless, long dead, aristocratic poet,” he said profoundly.

She stared at him in shock. His analysis stunned her. She hadn’t considered it that way. But it did kind of make sense. She was the Slayer. Buffy Summers. The chosen one. The one who had saved the world from demise at least five times and was probably destined to do it again in the future. But there were so many other questions …

“You might be right, but why then did I get sent back? What was the purpose of that?”  
“I’ve been pondering that myself for the past 122 years. All I could figure out was that it did help to shape my path,” he said nonchalantly.  
“Your path? What do you mean … did I help to create you? Oh God,” she gasped, clasping her hands to her mouth in sudden realisation.

Was all of this just some sort of wicked time loop? Was her destiny simply to have been the initiating influence behind William the Bloody … Spike … One of the most feared monsters who had ever walked the Earth.

“Sort of … but it’s not as bad as you think. You weren’t responsible for the monster … you influenced my better side,” he responded in a surprisingly quiet and reflective tone of voice.  
“Your better side?” Buffy asked sceptically.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, his gentle demeanour suddenly gone.

“Yes my better side,” he sneered … “I do ‘ave one you know. Bloody annoying it is too. Do you know how darn hard it has been to be a ruthless vampire all these years when I’ve got the next best thing to a fucking conscience buried deep inside me harbouring the worst hard-on for a damn Slayer?”

She stared at him again, speechless. His constant declarations of love for her over the past year before she went to England. She’d put it down to simple lust and debauchery. He had created a bloody sex-robot that looked just like her for God’s sake. That had been disgusting and she’d told him as much before taking it away. But was it more than that? Had he created the replica of her because he was secretly, truly in love with her? Was it William’s influence driving his feelings?

Her silence obviously disconcerted him. Because he hurried to continue his explanation …

“Without you, William would have just rolled over and died. He had no real reason to live. His mother was nearly dead, he had no other family or true friends. He was rich, yes, but didn’t have anyone to share it with. He was a very, very lonely man,” he said.

This confused her somewhat.

“What do you mean? He did roll over and die … didn’t he?”  
“No … he most definitely did not …”  
“Huh?” she asked in confusion.  
“Do you know much about how long it takes a newly sired fledgling to rise?” he asked.  
“About 24 – 36 hours,” she responded.

It was textbook vampire information, Giles had drilled that fact into her a million times over the years.

“Normally yes … but there are exceptions. As a rule, the longer it takes for a fledgling to rise, the longer the human self has been fighting the change. Most give up fairly easily. Some not so much.”  
“How long did you take to rise?” Buffy asked cautiously.

She suspected it was going to be much longer than 36 hours.

“70 hours, almost three whole days. Drusilla nearly left my corpse in that coffin, she was convinced that I wasn’t rising at all, that it hadn’t worked,” he said.  
“And you attribute that inner fight to me?” she asked, feeling somewhat chuffed at her influence.  
“Oh, it was definitely all you … or Anne at any rate. William was madly in love with you and was not prepared to give up easily. Plus he knew what was happening and was prepared, that almost never happens in a more traditional siring,” Spike explained.  
“Huh … I guess I should be honoured,” she said.  
“Yeah well, you might feel honoured, but for me, it was fucking torture. Do you know how hard it was to contain that sappy bastard during those early years? He was always popping up trying to influence me and generally making me miserable with his grief and depression. I mean he made me keep that stupid box of memories. My quest to override him was the reason I primarily attacked pretty young blonde girls and also why I was obsessed with Slayers and trying to fight them. It took me years to subdue him.”  
“Spike, it doesn’t exactly please me to hear you speak of the man I fell in love with in that manner,” Buffy retorted angrily.

Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe Spike was irredeemable. She stood up and marched towards the door of the crypt with the intention of leaving. Suddenly he was by her side, his rapid movement from the armchair to her side, a distance of more than 10 yards, would have been too fast for a normal human to have perceived. It was only her Slayer perception that allowed her to be aware of the blur of his approach. He grasped her arm, just above the elbow. Stopping her.

“Look … Slayer … I’m sorry. I’m just tellin' it like it was. You wanted to talk … so I’m talking.”  
“Alright then. Go on,” she relented allowing herself to be led back towards the sofa.  
“I’m different from most vampires. There are others like me, but not many. As I said, it all depends on how strong our human host was. Most are weak and submit easily to the demon. But some fight back, they never truly die, and they, therefore, have quite a bit of influence,” he said.

They were sitting next to each other on the sofa. He was bent over, cradling his face in his hands as he made that particular speech. It was obviously hard for him to admit to having a weak side. She reached over and ran her hand through his hair. So different from the soft wavy curls that William had. Yet she wasn’t necessarily turned-off by his current look. His bleached blonde hair was actually quite nice to touch.

“William used to pop up all the time you know, in those early days. Bloody annoying twat. He made me into the biggest sap of a vampire there ever was. Angelus used to beat the crap out of me to try and break me and Drusilla did her very best to try and tempt me over to the dark side. Eventually, it worked. But his legacy was still there,” Spike confessed.

It was quite odd to hear Spike refer to William in the third person. He obviously knew everything about him but didn’t identify with him as such. Buffy snapped out of her analysis when she realised he was asking her a question …

“Have you seen the movie Primal Fear?” he asked.

Buffy was not expecting that question. She thought for a moment before answering.

“Is that the one with Richard Gere? About the dead priest?” she asked.  
“Yeah … that’s it. Well, I’m sort of like the prisoner. The one with the split personality. If you ignore the twist at the end and disregard almost all of the boring legal crap then that movie sums me up pretty well,” he explained.  
“But that character was mostly good wasn’t he? At least until the end,” Buffy said, trying to remember the events of the movie.  
“Yeah, I’m kind of like him in reverse. There’s two of me. Spike and William. But one is much more dominant than the other, take a guess which one,” he said rhetorically.  
“Ok … so he is still alive … sort of,” she surmised.  
“Sort of. Look, Buffy, you gotta understand, I’m a demon … yes … but it’s not like I have any memories of being a demon before I rose as a vampire. I didn’t exist in hell or any other place before that night. All I know is William’s life, he is me, just without any of the soft sappy human stuff. Well, most of the time anyway, as I said, he left behind a strong legacy.”

Buffy contemplated that information. It did make sense. Giles had never really gone into the specifics of how demons took over their human hosts or the inner turmoil that resulted. Maybe he didn’t even really know. He’d always just said the demon was pretending to be the human.

“You see it’s easy being Spike, it feels like my natural state and I don’t feel guilty for being him. William is different, he’s there … deep underneath, buried somewhere. He has to actively force his personality to the surface, and when he does it isn’t for very long and it kind of hurts me.”

The thought of William being trapped inside of his own un-dead body for all eternity, domineered by a ruthless demon, filled Buffy with sudden sorrow. She felt like she might cry. Spike noticed the change in her demeanour and quickly went on to explain.

“It’s OK … he’s safe. His soul has gone to Heaven or wherever they go. What remains is more of a legacy … memories, personality quirks, a bit of empathy and love. His legacy is just a bit stronger than most.”

She smiled, reassured. It made sense. And explained quite a bit of Spike’s persona. Stuff that she had never contemplated and could never have begun to understand before the time-travel.

“What situations tend to bring him out?”  
“Well … you for one …” he said.  
“Really? How so?”  
“The thought of Anne. Vulnerable Anne who is in need of help, kindness, and love. That brings him out all the time. Luckily, I haven’t thought of her in quite some time … until recently.”  
“The other night … when I arrived home …”  
“Yeah. You were pretty banged up and traumatised. He immerged as soon as I saw you on those stairs and he wouldn’t bloody well go away.”  
“You mentioned my earrings …”  
“Yeah. Physical reminders like that will also do it… ” he trailed off.

He was looking at her now, not as William, but as quite an honest and reflective Spike. She smiled.

“So where does that leave us then?” she asked.

He stood up and started pacing around the crypt. Clearly nervous and unsure of what to say.

“I dunno … part of me wants you so bad. A very big part of me. Call it lust, call it uncontrollable impulse, call it whatever … but there is a definite attraction … and I know you feel it too…” he said.

He was right. She was attracted to him. Always had been. Even before the time-travel. She had just suppressed it because it hadn’t been appropriate. He didn’t have a soul and was evil.

He continued with his analysis …

“Slayers are naturally attracted to the dark side. It serves you well when you’re hunting, it enables you to easily identify and kill us, but it also excites you. I’ve observed four Slayers in my time, they always seemed to get a rush from the kill. Faith definitely feels that way. You’re just better at controlling it, probably because you have a strong family background with normal friends,” he said.

He had clearly put a lot of thought into this. He was still pacing around relentlessly. Buffy became aware of the fact that he was afraid. He was afraid that she was going to reject him, to say that she didn’t feel any attraction, that she could never be with someone like him.

“Did you recognise me … when you first came to Sunnydale?” she asked him.

He stopped pacing and looked at her with an exasperated expression.

“Well of course I bloody well did. It’s not like you had changed much, physically anyway,” he said.  
“But you didn’t say anything, or try to warn me … I mean you even knew when I’d be sent back.”  
“You would never have believed me. Plus you were pining after Angel for a long time. Do you know how bloody hard it was for me to see that … thanks for the warning,” he said harshly but justifiably.  
“Yeah well, William would never have believed that story,” she countered defensively.  
“It doesn’t really matter anyway. You weren’t her yet anyway, you were far too young, I needed to wait until you were older,” he replied, resuming his pacing.

She watched him for a moment. He looked so different. With his short slicked back peroxide blonde hair and his tight jeans and dark tee shirt. She could see the bulge of his pectoral and triceps muscles and found herself admiring his physical condition. William had been lean but definitely not muscular.

“You’re right you know …” she said.

He stopped pacing and stared at her. She stood up and hovered beside the sofa about five yards from him.

“I am?” He asked surprised.

So he wasn’t as sure of himself as he made out to be. Interesting.

“I’m not very good at controlling it … it takes a great deal of effort to stop my … attraction. Especially for you …” she said.


	20. Chapter 20

Once again he closed the distance between them with amazing speed. This time he swept her off her feet and swung her around so that her body was positioned up against the wall. She gasped at the suddenness of his movement and the sheer strength he displayed in performing it. Shutting her eyes and waiting, she wondered what he was going to do next. But other than pinning her to the wall, Spike didn't move - yet. He was pressed up against her, she could feel his cold skin against hers.

She realised that he was actually breathing, even though he didn’t need to. His nose and mouth were so close to her face, yet he didn’t say or do anything. She was also aware of the fact that his erection was pressing against her stomach.

She slowly opened her eyes and met his lustful gaze.

"Buffy… I want you so much … but this will be nothing like before," he finally said.  
“It’s OK … I want you Spike,” she replied honestly.

Then, he was kissing her. His tongue slipping between her lips and exploring the caverns of her mouth with incessant hunger. He’d become a much better kisser, that was for sure. Whilst she had kissed Spike before, this time it was different because she had a comparison to judge him against.

He reached down to pull her leg up against his waist, and Buffy released a moan into his mouth when he moved himself against her. She could feel his cock pressing against her. She reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it upwards towards his shoulders. He pulled away slightly and pulled it up over his head and it was then discarded absently on the floor. She used the opportunity to hastily unbutton her own shirt. As he returned to her embrace, her hands immediately travelled all over his chest and back, exploring the definition of his muscles and marvelling at the coolness of his skin.

Spike broke off the kiss and suddenly spun her around, pinning her front to the wall. She was momentarily worried about the baby, but almost instantly forgot about it. Lydia had assured her that her Slayer strength would be ample protection for the foetus.  
She could feel his length, still restrained by his trousers, throbbing between the cleft of her buttocks, and her mind reeled at what he might be about to do.

She felt a snap and realised he had just ripped her bra open. He peeled her shirt and lingerie from her upper body. Then from where he stood, pressed up against her, he reached in from behind to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples just as she had taught him all those years ago.

"Spike…" she moaned.

This was definitely not like their previous encounters. William had indeed become a somewhat more skilled lover during their brief time together in 1880 but that was nothing compared to this. William was gone and in his place was Spike. In all his glory. With vampiric strength to match her Slayer strength and 122 years of practice at the art of sex.

Buffy wondered who exactly he’d been sleeping with. Drusilla certainly, maybe even Darla a few times … if Angelus had been inclined to share. Harmony yes. But had he been with any others? Human women perhaps? Was a vampire capable of putting aside his blood lust long enough to enjoy a sexual encounter with a human? She made a mental note to ask him afterwards.

Her thoughts were disturbed suddenly by his cold tongue darting into her ear, his hands still palming her breasts and pinching her erect nipples, his body still pressing from behind her, teasing her. A small shift and she felt his other arm move between the wall and the flat of her stomach, his palm running over her abdomen before disappearing inside the waistband of her panties.

"Oh, God," Buffy cried out when she finally felt his cold fingers where she'd needed them the most.

If he hadn't been holding her, she would have crumpled to the floor. His thumb stroked her already engorged clit with a level of skill that he had not previously had. She let out a series of moans which evolved into a muffled scream when he finally penetrated her with a finger.

He leaned forward and began sucking at her neck, not biting just nibbling and licking … would he bite her? Could he bite her? The chip should stop him surely .... She realised with a shock that she actually wanted him to bite her. What the hell? Where had that feeling come from?

“Bite me …” she found herself saying.

He groaned, a deep guttural noise that was not human-like at all. She knew he had vamped out. Surprisingly it did not bother her in the slightest. His mouth hovered over her neck. Her Slayer senses were on fire with anticipation. They were normally supposed to warn her of the proximity of a vampire in order to protect her. This time they were acting in a very different way and it excited her like never before.

Suddenly she felt his fangs piercing her delicate skin and enter her neck. The resulting feeling was one of extreme release and intimate connection with him. She could feel him in her soul, sense that her body was becoming a part of his, and above all, she was currently having the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced. Holy Fuck! Her body shuddered uncontrollably.

She also sensed that he was gaining strength from the encounter. She knew he’d tasted Slayer blood before, but he’d never said anything about its effects on him. Well, it seemed to charge him immensely.

It didn’t last long, only ten seconds. Despite his lust, his need, his hunger, he also seemed to know when to stop and he pulled his mouth away, returning to simply lick her neck and seal the wounds. She knew she hadn’t lost enough blood to be in any real danger, being a Slayer she was also more resilient to blood loss. Her strength was undiminished and her lust was still there.

"Don’t stop…" she gasped.  
“Oh, I have no intention of stopping …” he replied seductively.

He didn't. She felt him ease her panties down whilst also loosening his jeans. He entered her from behind before his pants hit the floor.

"Oh dear God!"

Buffy wasn't sure who had cried out. Maybe she did. Maybe Spike did. Maybe they both did. She didn't care. Nothing else mattered but the feel of his chest, heaving against her shoulder blades, his hands clasping at her sides, and his length, pulsing inside her. He began to move. She struggled to catch her breath as he surged up and down from behind her, pressing and sliding her body against the wall, his hand still squeezing her breast and occasionally pinching and tugging her nipple while the other reached down to massage her clit.

"Oh, God, Spike!" Buffy quivered.

Spike was relentless. Charged by the power of her blood, he pounded into her with a force that only a Slayer could withstand. Buffy tried to meet his thrusts, but being pushed to a wall hardly gave her freedom of movement. She didn't want this to be just one-sided, as much as she was writhing in ecstasy, she wanted to show him just what a Slayer at full strength was capable of during sex.

Buffy struggled and managed to push herself away from the wall with her arms, but Spike was strong … really strong. This was so different from sex with William, where she’d been in control. With a deep breath, she pushed back, momentarily they parted and it was enough for her to twist around to face him. She then slammed him across the room onto the battered old sofa. He allowed her to take control and approach him seductively. Mounting him and lowering herself onto him slowly. Once she was in place she purposefully contracted around his length.

From his expression, it was clear that he had never experienced Slayer strength vaginal muscles contracting around him like that.

"Oh, good Lord, Buffy!" His eyes rolled upwards into his head and craned his neck backwards as he relished the tightness and pressure she was creating.

Buffy smiled. She’d never been able to fully utilise this part of her Slayer strength before. Well once, with Angel, but she’d been very inexperienced then. She certainly hadn’t been able to do it with her other sexual partners, all human, they would have been crushed … literally. Spike was right. A Slayer needed a superhuman partner in order to be satisfied.

Again Buffy constricted him with her inner walls. She could've sworn he howled, and she felt his stomach quiver. Squeezing him inside her and rolling her hips into his she maintained a rhythmic motion that definitely seemed to impress him, he looked as if he was about to lose himself in her. But he managed to hold on and even managed to match her movements so that they melded into one.

He reached up and clasped at her head drawing her down to him and then kissing her so passionately that she knew she was going to lose control again. Her legs began to shake, her stomach was starting to flutter, and soon, the familiar waves spread through her body, making her skin warm until she felt it was catching fire.

"Spike!" Buffy cried out as her orgasm rocked through her, weakening her legs and forcing her to lean against him for support. As her body climaxed her muscles contracted again, even harder than before and she heard him groan before throbbing and exploding in waves inside her tender flesh.

Buffy took gasping mouthfuls of air, trying to regain some degree of control. Spike was still sitting beneath her, he appeared spent as well. Amazingly he was still actually breathing, something he didn’t need to do and something she’d rarely seen him doing, but now his breaths were short and sharp and desperate.

After a few moments he slowly slid out of her, and she started to let out an exhausted sigh. But suddenly he swept her in his arms and pressed her onto her back upon the sofa. She blinked away her shock and found him hovering above her, his eyes on hers, still smouldering. Slowly he lowered himself towards her and that's when Buffy realized he was still hard, he kissed her neck and her breasts and her belly before gently spreading her legs and ...

"Oh, God!" Buffy threw her head back on the armrest.

She’d never been a huge fan of this before … Angel hadn’t gotten around to it before everything changed and Riley whilst giving it a go hadn’t been very good or patient and it had made her feel like she was inconveniencing him so she hadn’t been able to relax properly. But this was different. Perhaps because she was already so content, perhaps it was his skill … and he did seem to have skill.

And so she let him. She let him do as he pleased and it was wonderful. He spent so long down there, using his cold tongue to tease her. Buffy lost count of her orgasms, and she doubted she'd ever form a coherent word again. Finally, he finished off by entering her fully. This time she was so spent she could barely move let alone contract her muscles effectively … but it didn’t matter, this time it was more sensual, they moved together in rhythm and came one last time simultaneously. A true reunion.

They lay together spooning on the couch afterwards, recovering. It was a good ten minutes before she had the strength to speak coherently.

“Spike … you have enhanced hearing don’t you?” she asked him.  
“Yeah … why?” he asked confused.  
“Can you hear my heartbeat?” she asked.  
“Sure can … it’s pumping away like crazy."

He was kissing the back of her neck, only half listening to what she was saying.

“Can you hear anything else?” she asked cryptically whilst also positioning his hand on her abdomen.  
“What on Earth are you blabbering about? Hear anything else … what? … Oh … Oh, God,” he said with sudden clarity that seemed to render him speechless.

He flipped her over onto her back and was suddenly above her. Positioning his ear against her stomach he listened intently.

“Buffy … oh my God … Really?” he said incredulously.  
“We’re going to have a baby, Spike. William and Anne have given us a gift,” she said gently.

He was still listening.

“Well … actually, we’re going to have two babies,” he replied.  
“What???” she exclaimed sitting up suddenly, dislodging him from the sofa.  
“There are definitely two little heartbeats thumping away in there, and I think that means twins. Or an Axel demon, but I’m more inclined to think it’s twins,” he said with a grin.


	21. Epilogue

Spike was completing one last walk through the cemetery. Sunrise wasn’t too far off and he was tired. He’d been fulfilling 100% of the Slayer’s duties for the past five months and it was quite a responsibility. But one that he felt good about.

It had been quite a busy night, but nothing he hadn’t been able to handle. But now it was time for some shut-eye in the dark confines of Buffy’s bedroom, their bedroom. He hoped that she wasn’t going to make him play Für Elise again. He was beginning to hate that tune. Buffy had this stupid idea that the babies should hear classical music and she insisted that he play the piano regularly.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called out to him.

He looked up to see Buffy standing at the gate of the cemetery waiting for him. She was absolutely enormous, her pregnant belly swelling out in front of her. But she still looked good to him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked kissing her lightly.  
“I couldn’t sleep … indigestion … so I thought I’d come find you.”  
“It’s nearly dawn, we’d better head home.”

Spike wandered through the cemetery gate and started to head down the street, lighting a cigarette as he walked. He’d promised to quit smoking once the babies were born, but he figured he still had a week or so to enjoy them in the meantime. After his first drag, he looked around and noticed that Buffy wasn’t there, quickly he scanned the immediate area and saw her standing back at the gate leaning against the metal frame.

“Buffy?” he asked, walking back towards her.

She had one hand on her lower back and was panting.

“Spike, I think it’s time,” she moaned.  
“What! It can’t be, you’re not due yet!” he exclaimed as she almost fell against him.  
“Tell that to your children, they disagree,” she replied, “Oh, God I think my waters just broke!” she exclaimed as her beige pants suddenly became soaked right through.  
“Crap!” he cried out in a panicked tone.

Digging around in his pants pocket for his mobile phone he quickly dialled 911. It took a bit of time to convince the operator that he wasn’t pranking her by requesting an ambulance to the cemetery at 5 am for a pregnant lady in labour but eventually, they said a vehicle was on its way. He had only a moment to send a quick text message to Giles before Buffy’s shrieks drew his attention.

“Spike … I think they’re coming,” she said urgently.

He glanced around, whilst the sun wasn’t up yet it was bound to be immerging over the horizon any moment and he really didn’t want to be fried to a crisp whilst trying to attend to his labouring girlfriend, so he quickly guided her towards his old crypt.

“I don’t want to give birth in a crypt!” she exclaimed when she realised where they were going.  
“Not much choice pet, the ambulance is at least 20 minutes away and it will be sunrise is about two.”

He pushed open the door and quickly ushered her in. There was a curtain hanging up over one of the far windows which seemed to be relatively clean so he ripped it down and was about to spread it over the sarcophagus when he noticed that Buffy was instead leaning up against the main pillar in the middle of the room. She’d already pushed her pants down to her ankles and looked like a crazed woman.

“Seriously, right now? Isn’t this supposed to take hours or something?” He asked rushing to her side.  
“I dunno, all I know is I need to push … now!” she groaned and started bearing down.  
“Jesus!” Spike exclaimed falling to his knees beside her so he could see what the hell was going on.

Almost immediately he spied what appeared to be a head emerging from between her legs.

“Catch it!” she screamed urgently.

Spike used the curtain to create a hammock-like device as the child slid downwards and into his arms. It started screaming immediately.

“Is it OK?” she asked.  
“Its lungs certainly are,” Spike replied, taking a look at the child, “Hey, it’s a girl!”  
“A girl?” Buffy replied in a soft tone, “We have a daughter?”  
“Yep,” Spike replied with a grin on his face to rival the Cheshire Cat.  
“You have to cut the cord,” she told him.  
“Oh … OK,” he didn’t really have anything to cut it with so instead he nibbled at it with his razor-sharp teeth.  
“Oh God, Spike … here we go again!” Buffy moaned, returning her head to her arms and leaning against the pillar.

Tearing off his duster, Spike wrapped the little girl up in it and laid her gently down on the ground before turning his attention to Buffy and the next birth. In much the same manner the second baby was soon well on its way. However, this time there wasn’t any hearty screaming. Spike crouched there holding his son in his arms, stunned.

“Spike! Do something!” Buffy yelled.  
“Right …” he said, spurred into action.

He held the child by its ankles upside down and slapped him firmly on the bum. Two things happened. The boy seemed to come alive instantly, screaming, as did his father because the chip in his head suddenly activated blasting him with a searing pain. Spike started to fall backward and almost dropped the child.

“Spike, here … give him to me,” Buffy exclaimed urgently.

She sunk down to the floor beside Spike, taking the infant, righting him up the correct way and cradling him gently. She then laid him down in the jacket alongside his sister.

“Are you OK?” she asked as he moaned and clasped his head in pain.  
“Yeah … well at least we know who will be the main disciplinarian in the family, I can’t even smack them,” he said.  
“Spike … we’re a family,” she whispered leaning over to give him a kiss on the forehead.  
“Yeah, pretty bloody groovy isn’t it?” he replied in his English slang.

They both took a moment to gaze adoringly at their two children, who had ceased the bellowing and were gazing up at their parents curiously. A camera click sounded from across the crypt and both of them looked up to see Giles standing in the doorway, a camera in his hands taking a sneaky photo of them.

“I came to help, but it seems you have handled it already … congratulations!” he exclaimed.  
“Giles, it’s a boy and a girl,” Buffy announced.  
“Wonderful, great work Buffy,” Giles said crouching down beside them to look at the babies.  
“Hello? Is anyone here? We had a call for an ambulance,” a voice called from outside. Giles hopped up quickly to let them in.

The paramedics sorted out the final tasks of childbirth, neatening the cords, and delivering the placentas. Spike gallantly offered to dispose of the placentas, putting them in his fridge. He smiled to himself, they would make an awesome snack later on. They then brought in a stretcher to load Buffy onto.

“I’ll see you later tonight,” Spike said to Buffy as they started to wheel her out, she was holding both babies who were now tightly swaddled in clean blankets.  
“What? Why aren’t you coming?” she asked.  
“Morning has broken pet,” Spike answered indicating the dull light coming in through the filthy windows.  
“Oh,” Buffy replied crestfallen.

Then turning to the first paramedic she said ...

“Hey, can you back the ambulance right up to the doorway? And does it have curtains?”  
“Um … I guess so … but curtains? … um no,” he replied confused.  
“Well we’ll have to fashion something to cover the windows, Giles can you help them?” Buffy said bossily.

Spike smiled, that was his girl. 

It took 10 minutes but they managed to tape some material over the two small back windows and hung a blanket up in the gap between the patient area and the driver’s cab. The paramedics were surprisingly chill about this rather odd request. In Sunnydale, they tended to see and experience all kinds of weird occurrences and individuals. The closest they could get the ambulance to the crypt door was about five yards away, so Spike had to make a mad dash under the protection of his duster and a blanket but eventually they were in the ambulance headed towards the hospital. Giles had gone in his car and was meeting them there.

“Do you have names picked out?” The female paramedic asked as she hooked Buffy up to a saline drip and took her temperature and pulse.

Spike looked at the infants and then over at Buffy. Without needing to consult verbally with her he knew what she would want to call the children. As if to confirm his thoughts he heard her answer…

“William and Anne,” she said.

Yep, he’d been spot on. Oh well, despite the sappy sentimentality, he had to admit that those names did kind of suit the situation.

“That’s nice … good traditional names,” the paramedic replied with a smile.

Spike chuckled, if only she knew the half of it. Buffy looked over at him with a knowing smile.

As they pulled up at the hospital, which thankfully had a well-shaded and covered entry, everyone jumped out to prepare for disembarking the patient, leaving Spike, Buffy and the kids alone for a minute.

“Hey, Buffy … good job. You know on the whole birthin’ and stuff. I love you,” Spike said gently, leaning over to give her a kiss.  
“I love you too Spike, very much, and I am glad you were my destiny.”

The End


End file.
